


they say love is a virtue

by agetwellcard



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Childhood Friends, Coming Out, Dare, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-14 13:12:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7173149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agetwellcard/pseuds/agetwellcard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I have a bet,” Tony announces to the room. He stands up, repeating himself a few times so that everyone is forced to stop the game and look up at him. He looks straight into Bucky’s eyes when he goes, “I bet you fifty dollars that you and Steve can’t spend a whole week pretend married without realizing that you’re both in love with each other.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Dare

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was watching those cute Buzzfeed videos where they pretend to be married for a week and this fic just sort of happened. I basically stole the format they had for it, so I guess credit goes to them. Also, title cred goes to The National. 
> 
> First chapter is a little short, so sorry for that. I'll update pretty regularly, though, to make up for it. 
> 
> Feel free to tell me what you think.

It all started the first time Steve introduced Bucky to Natasha.

It was their first year of university, and Steve had met Natasha in his finite class and had been excited to introduce her to Bucky after he found out that Natasha liked one of his bizarre indie films. So, at some party that Steve dragged Bucky to, he flags her over and introduces the two of them to each other, excitedly draping an arm around Bucky’s shoulders.

Natasha had smiled, red hair glowing in the lighting and the drink in her hand already half-finished. “You guys are a cute couple,” she said, completely good-natured.

Bucky smirked as Steve’s mouth fell open, like he was shocked by this comparison (that, if Bucky was being honest, they had gotten on several occasions). “ _No_ ,” Steve then said, awkwardly taking his arm off Bucky’s shoulder. “We’re just really close friends. Since childhood, actually.”

“Oh,” Natasha said, smirking still. “Sorry. Just assumed. You guys just look like a couple.”

This one meeting spawns an ongoing joke that not only Natasha makes, but all of their friends. They think it’s hilarious to constantly joke about the two of them being boyfriends, even after Bucky comes out one game night, eyes staring intently at his game piece and voice cracking when he says the word “gay”. No one cares, though, that Bucky is gay or that Steve is straight, and the jokes continues.

It goes on for two years without a reprieve since neither Bucky nor Steve find themselves in any serious relationship that doesn’t last more than one night.

It’s exactly how they end up in the current situation.

The whole gang is sprawled on the floor of Tony’s apartment, the Monopoly board spread out and a bottle of expensive-looking vodka being passed around. Tony’s winning (“The house always wins,” he shrugs) but Bruce and Natasha are trying their best to keep up. Everyone else, though, has given up, taking their turns with annoyance since Tony is adamant that they can’t just quit.

So, there they are, playing a innocent game of drunk Monopoly, and Steve takes his turn (and dejectedly pays Tony a few colorful bills) and then sighs and lies back down next to Bucky, putting his head on Bucky’s lap. By habit, Bucky’s fingers are immediately reaching to play with his short blonde hair.

Sam takes one look at them and then is hitting Natasha with his elbow, the two of them snickering. “You guys are like an old married couple,” Natasha tells them.

“Never heard that before,” Bucky scoffs. He has. Several times. It’s Natasha’s go-to.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Sam jokes.

Bucky hums, not amused. “I’d be a great husband,” he muses, feeling slightly buzzed.

“Does that make me the wife?” Steve asks, picking up his head a little to give a worried glance to Bucky.

“Pretty sure you’re just a husband,” Bucky says, and then, “Husband Two.”

Steve puts his head back on Bucky’s stomach looking satisfied by this as Natasha goes, “I can see it now. Dinner parties and long walks on the beach – “

“Don’t get jealous,” Bucky says, smiling lazily as he pets through Steve’s hair.

Natasha has to take her turn, but Tony is suddenly interested in their conversation. “You two are eloping?” he deadpans, to which no one laughs at except Sam, who snorts through his nose.

“You know,” Bucky says. “People can be close friends without dating. I know it’s a hard thing to understand.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “You’re secretly in love with each other, and we all know it.”

Unfortunately, it’s not the first time they’ve heard this either, once even by Bucky’s own mother. At first, Bucky had blushed red and scrambled to find words, scared that maybe everyone did know of Bucky’s small crush on Steve. They didn’t, though, and it’s a joke, so eventually Bucky becomes a pro when he hears this now. Only rolls his eyes as Steve scoffs. It’s their usual response, so it doesn’t hurt Bucky anymore. Steve’s scoff used to hurt, just a little, in his chest, but by now it’s expected.

Clint takes his turn next, but Tony’s attention is still on Bucky and Steve, eyebrow raised mischievously. Bucky knows it isn’t a good sign.

“I have a bet,” Tony announces to the room. He stands up, repeating himself a few times so that everyone is forced to stop the game and look up at him. He looks straight into Bucky’s eyes when he goes, “I bet you _fifty dollars_ that you and Steve can’t spend a whole week pretend married without realizing that you’re both in love with each other.”

Bucky’s first thought is _shit_.

Which is, of course, when Steve sits up and goes, “Fifty dollars _each_?”

This is it. This is how Bucky is going to die.

“Fifty dollars each,” Tony echoes in confirmation. “But you have to follow rules.”

Everyone is very interested at this point, and Bucky does not miss the pointed smiles on Natasha and Sam’s faces. They probably gave Tony the idea. Bucky, though, is trying his hardest to not bolt from the room.

“First, you have to live with each other for the entire week,” Tony starts, clearly making this up as he goes. “I’m talking sharing the bed, eating meals with each other, and maybe even a kiss on the cheek before going to bed.”

Bucky tries his best not to make a face.

“Second, you have to do _couple things_.”

Bucky definitely makes a face at this.

“Do things like…” Tony is trailing on, eyes floating up to the ceiling in thought.

“Go one dates,” Natasha supplies.

“And do nice things for each other,” Sam chimes in.

Tony smiles widely (and evilly) at this. “Exactly!” he exclaims. “And if you don’t fall completely in love with each other – which is going to happen, mark my words – then I’ll gladly hand over fifty dollars to each of you.”

Bucky goes, “No way,” just as Steve goes, “Deal!”

They both turn to each other, and Bucky hates the look on Steve’s face, like he’s just been punched in the stomach. He crosses his arms over his chest and goes, “Buck, it’s fifty dollars for the two of us to literally do what we already basically do.”

“That is not true,” Bucky complains. They have never gone on a date. Bucky thinks he would have definitely remembered that.

To this, Steve gives Bucky a pleading look, lip jutted out and eyes big. “Please, Buck,” he whines. “You know I need the money. And it’ll be fun. A week-long sleepover together.”

It’s oddly quiet for once and no one is loudly interrupting them with their opinions or a joke, and it’s damn hard for Bucky to say no to that face that Steve always uses when he wants something from Bucky. So, of course (of _fucking_ course), Bucky crumbles.

“Fine,” he sighs out. He points at Tony. “But _you’re_ paying for the dates.”

Everyone in the room cheers and Natasha slaps Bucky on the back and congratulates them on their marriage. Sam even pours shots for Bucky and Steve, holding them out with a childish smirk on his face. Bucky begrudgingly takes his because, _yeah_ , he could use some alcohol right now. They clink their shot glasses together, and then Bucky downs it quickly, watching as Steve’s nose wrinkles like it does every time he takes a shot. Bucky smiles at him, and Steve smiles back.

Bucky knows he’s fucked.


	2. DAY ONE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the kudos and kind comments. it made me more motivated to update sooner.
> 
> so, i plotted all of this the other day and i'm really excited to write it now. the tags/ratings will change with each chapter update, just so there are no spoilers. also, each chapter will be one day of their pretend marriage.
> 
> feel free to talk to me about the fic (or badger me to update) on my tumblr hiver-soldier.

On Sunday night, Tony demands that their living arrangements are sorted out before the first day so that they “can wake up in each other’s loving embraces”. Tony’s words, not his.

So, Bucky FaceTime’s Steve, half-praying that Steve will want to stay at his apartment instead of making Bucky clean up his own dirty one. When Steve answers, his hair is wet and he’s shirtless with his pair of thick glasses on. He instantly picks up with, “Hey, Hubby.”

Bucky resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m not your husband until tomorrow,” he reminds him.

Steve pretends to look disappointed. “But you’re coming over tonight, right?”

“We’re staying at your place?”

“I was thinking my apartment since it’s closer to campus and everything,” Steve explains, but then tacks on, “Plus, you have a shitty bed.”

“It’s not _that_ bad,” Bucky says, but he knows it is. Every time Steve stays over he whines about it.

Steve smiles, lighting up the screen without even realizing he’s doing it. “Not to mention, at least I actually clean my bathroom.”

“I do!” Bucky exclaims. “You just have high standards.”

Steve hums, phone angled away from him as he fiddles with something off-shot. “I’m making tea for us,” he tells Bucky. “So, you better hurry up and get here before it gets cold.”

“You’re already so romantic,” Bucky mutters, getting up to find his suitcase. “What should I bring?”

Steve hums in thought. “Clothes, textbooks, laptop, _toothbrush_. Maybe some food?”

The suitcase Bucky opens has a few bundled socks in it from his last trip and he doesn’t bother taking them out before piling in clothes at random. It’s only a week, and he can technically come back to his apartment if he needs something, but he’s always been a bit cautious. He walks around his room collecting things to add as Steve smiles widely and says, “I’ve already got the perfect date planned.”

Bucky tries his best to look indifferent to this declaration. It’s incredibly unfair that Steve can just say things like that. Bucky has spent the last few years pathetically daydreaming about what a date would be like with Steve, and now here he is, talking about it like it’s no big deal. But it isn’t really because it’s fake. It’s for a bet. Bucky tries not to frown.

“I’m worried already,” Bucky jokes. “What is it?”

Steve looks offended. “I can’t tell you. It’s a surprise.”

Bucky gives him a confused smile, thinking maybe he’s joking, but when he glances at the screen Steve is serious. “You really want fifty dollars, huh?”

“I do.” Steve nods. “And you can’t mess it up for me. So, get your ass over here before your sleepy time tea gets cold.”

Bucky does as he says, hanging up the call and packing the rest of his shit before making his way out, giving his apartment a once-over before turning off the lights and locking the door behind him. Steve lives a short walk from his house, in an apartment that’s admittedly nicer than Bucky’s. It’s closer to campus, has AC, and is right across the street from a CVS, which comes in handy more often than not.

The early December winds makes Bucky wish he had thrown on a hat before leaving. He trudges forward, though, suitcase rolling behind him noisily like he’s one of the annoying tourists that stand outside of Grand Central Station with confused looks on their faces. The sidewalks are surprisingly thin for eight at night and Bucky makes it to Steve’s apartment in record time.

Bucky’s been regretting agreeing to this bet ever since he said the words, but he regrets it even more when he has to walk up the seven flights of stairs to Steve’s floor. It might be a better apartment, but that doesn’t mean there’s an elevator. His suitcase hits every step, clanking loudly as he works up metal stairs only to be greeted by Steve standing happily at his doorway, already expecting him. He’s put on an old t-shirt that’s covered in paint stains and his glasses are falling down his nose.

“Don’t look so happy,” Bucky tells him, even if Steve’s smile is kind of his favorite thing.

It only makes Steve smile wider, though, laughing like a child as he snatches Bucky’s suitcase from him. Bucky happily lets him, and steps into his apartment that’s nice and toasty, music playing softly from the speakers in the kitchen.

“Alright, so I should probably give you the grand tour,” Steve says, face suddenly serious.

“Steve, I’m here, like, every other day. I think I’ll be good.” Steve gives him a long look, and so Bucky decides to play along. “Okay, alright, give me the tour.”

Steve stands up straighter and then holds out his hands to the right like he’s Vanna White. “So, this is my kitchen. As you can see, all amenities are all the newest tech from the nineties.” Bucky smirks. “And, this, is your complimentary sleepy time tea. Whipped it up myself.”

Bucky takes the outstretched mug and takes a sip. “It’s good. Did you use your high tech amenities?”

“I did. Thank you for asking,” Steve says, laughing a little. “If we continue, this over here is my living room.”

The room is as clean as it ever is, the couch with fluffed pillows on either side, and the coffee table in front of it with three remote controls lying in a perfect line. The electric keyboard is below the window that’s covered in soft blue curtains, and the TV is across from the couch, a shelf of DVD’s right next to it. It’s Steve’s living room, and Bucky will always feel at home in it.

Steve directs him to the door behind the couch, and he only cracks it open before his face lights up and he goes, “Should I carry you over threshold?”

Bucky holds his tea close to his chest. “Steve, _no_.”

Before Bucky can even get the idea out of his head, Steve swipes the mug from him, places it down on the coffee table, and picks up Bucky bridle style with no struggle at. “ _Steve_!” Bucky whines, automatically winding his arms around Steve’s shoulders.

“This is our bedroom, honey,” Steve exclaims. He jostles Bucky around as he enters the room, leaning forward to awkwardly hit at the light switch with his elbow until he gets it, the bulb in the center of the room sinking the room in a dull yellow. He’s softly placing Bucky down when he goes, “And _this_ is the bed.”

Bucky blinks up at him, already knowing this is going to be cruelest week he’s ever had to experience.

Steve’s laughing at him, bent over with his hands on his knees like he’s winded. Annoyed, Bucky sits up and crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re not being a very good husband so far,” Bucky chides.

“Let me make it up to you,” Steve says. “You can choose which side of the bed you want.”

It’s stupid, really, but Steve and Bucky always argue about who gets to sleep next to the wall, so this is actually not that bad of a deal. Bucky rolls over, so he’s lying down against the wall, a smirk on his face.

Steve is smiling at him too, though, eyes crinkled in the corner as he looks at Bucky with amusement. For a minute, Bucky kind of forgets this is all a joke to Steve, and that once the week is over, all his childish jokes will disappear and Bucky will go back to his place.

So, maybe it is going to be the cruelest week of his life, but it could also be the best for all he knows.

***

Bucky wakes up to someone jumping on him.

And, okay, he knows it’s Steve even in his sleep-addled brain, but that doesn’t stop him from reflexively pushing back against him, trying to get him off. It does nothing, though, because Steve is stronger than him now, holding his arms down to put his face only a few centimeters away from Bucky’s and purr, “Morning, Hubby.”

Bucky groans and attempts to pull the blankets up over his face. Steve is sitting on them, though, straddling Bucky’s hips and grinning in his face like it’s no big deal. Bucky is just grateful that his body didn’t choose this morning for him to get morning wood. “Don’t call me that,” Bucky tells him, voice hoarse with sleep.

Steve is still right next to his face, his blue eyes bright and freckled up close, mouth upturned in his boyish grin. Bucky can even make out the soft freckles he has on the bridge of his nose. It’s a bit entrancing until Steve quirks up an eyebrow and goes, “Do I have morning breath?”

Bucky nods, shoving Steve off in his moment of distraction so he slips onto the bed next to Bucky. Steve laughs, clearly not affected by this, and then pokes Bucky after he pulls the comforter over his face. “We’re going jogging this morning. You have to join me because that’s what good husbands do,” Steve explains.

Bucky groans even louder. “It’s, like, ten degrees outside, Steve.”

“Exactly the reason to go on a run,” he says. “It’ll keep you warm.”

“I don’t have any running clothes. Only brought gym clothes,” Bucky challenges.

Steve jumps off the bed, Bucky peaking out over the covers to see his grey sweatpants drooping down his waist, leaving a sliver of skin between his shirt. Bucky looks away as Steve digs through his dresser and then throws clothes at him.

They’re both the same shade of bright yellow (clearly a set), the jacket scratchy and the pants nothing more than leggings. “I can’t actually wear this,” Bucky says. “I’ll look like a bumblebee.”

“That’s why I picked it out for you,” Steve tells him, throwing a smile over his shoulder as he picks out his own outfit.

***

Bucky has always known that Steve’s workouts are definitely more intense than his own, but after the first mile and a half, Bucky has to lean against the thick street sign, gasping for air helplessly as Steve jogs in place waiting for the crosswalk light to go green.

“I’m going to die,” Bucky tells him between heavy breathing.

Steve doesn’t look sympathetic. “That means it’s working,” Steve says.

“ _No_ ,” Bucky complains. “It means I’m going to die. And you won’t even care. I thought you were my husband?”

Bucky doesn’t miss the way that Steve’s eyes flick nervously over to the group of people waiting with them before he stops jogging in place to go, “Fine. I’ll cut my workout short and we can circle back to the apartment.”

This seems like a fair compromise, but it ends up being another half mile before they make it back, Bucky falling behind Steve, who is clearly going slower to stay near Bucky. Then, like it can’t get any worse, Bucky has to struggle up seven flights of stairs that Steve takes two at a time.

By the time Bucky gets up to the apartment, Steve has already stripped off his shirt and jacket, it lying in a heap next to his dirty clothes hamper. Bucky tries not to stare, but Steve’s sweating, hair damp against his forehead, broad chest moving up and down with the heavy rhythm of his breathing. He thinks maybe he would go on jogs with Steve more often if he got to see this sight every once in while.

Before Bucky can stop ogling over Steve’s biceps, Steve rushes to the bathroom door and goes, “Sorry, Buck.”

Bucky drops his shoulders, still out of breath and a little turned on, to watch Steve give him an apologetic look before heading to the shower. He sticks his head out of the bathroom door, though, to go, “Don’t lie on the couch or the bed, either. Don’t want your sweat all over it.”

Bucky refrains from making a joke about sweating in Steve’s bed, and resigns to sitting on the kitchen floor with a cold water bottle against his forehead. Fortunately, Steve’s shower is quick. Unfortunately, Steve’s shower is so quick that he doesn’t change in the bathroom, and instead comes out in a white towel wrapped around his hips that he holds with his free hand as he motions to the bathroom and goes, “I’m all done.”

Bucky blinks a few times at him and, right, yeah, it’s Bucky’s turn to take a shower. Steve looks oblivious to his staring and heads for his bedroom to get changed, not even bothering to shut the door after him. Bucky scurries into the bathroom and starts the shower, the mirrors still fogged up.

It’s stupid to get all worked up over a half-naked Steve Rogers, especially since Bucky has seen Steve actually naked on multiple occasions (all non-carnal, of course) but he vaguely things it’s not fair he can just walk around with a towel on and his hair still dripping on his face so casually.

Bucky’s not proud, but he somehow ends up biting his lips to keep quiet as he jerks off. He’s showered in Steve’s bathroom a handful of random times, but he’s never touched himself in it, or even gotten off with Steve probably just casually lounging in the other room. He refuses to think of Steve, though, and instead thinks about that random guy he slept with a few months ago (that only coincidently happened to look a tiny bit like Steve if you squinted in low-light).

The worst part, though, is that after he comes, half-leaning on the shower wall all sated, he realizes that he didn’t bring any shampoo or soap so he’s forced to steal Steve’s. He scrubs on some Bath & Body Works body scrub all over himself and uses his apple-scented shampoo.

It’s not until he’s toweling off that he stupidly realizes that he smells just like Steve.

***

Steve has a drawing class after lunch and leaves after wrapping a scarf around his neck and giving Bucky a bone-crushing hug before yelling out the door, “I’ll miss you while I’m gone,” and then, “You better me miss me, too.”

Bucky smiles after him and lets him leave without promising anything. He doesn’t have anywhere to be so Bucky hangs around the apartment without Steve there, which is something new. He tries not to snoop, but he does casually walk around the apartment, turning on Steve’s keyboard (and pecking out Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star), opening and closing the fridge a few times (all of Steve’s food sucks), and peaks at the painting Steve’s working on in the corner of the bedroom (two hands twisted together in a blur of colors).

By the time Steve gets back, it’s later than Bucky expected, and so he’s carrying a plastic bag that smells vaguely like lo mein.

“I picked up dinner,” Steve says excitedly, putting the plastic bag down on the counter before shoveling off his backpack.

“Wow,” Bucky says, pretending to be impressed. “You pick up Chinese food better than any of my other husbands.”

Steve smiles and shoves over two take-out boxes with a pair of chopsticks. “Thanks. I do it for you.”

Bucky hums and cracks open the first box to find just as he suspected. He starts to eat right when Steve’s phone starts ringing from his backpack. Steve stoops down to get it out and then gives Bucky a look before muttering, “It’s Tony.”

It’s a FaceTime call, so it takes a second before Tony is yelling, “How are the newly weds?”

Tony has already been bothering them all day. It had started the night before, when Tony had requested they send a bedtime photo, and Steve had settled himself on Bucky’s chest to hold out his cell phone and take a photo of them. It happened again this morning after the two of them had gotten changed for their run (Steve pretending like he wasn’t actually laughing at how Bucky looked). Steve had huddled them into the bathroom to take another photo, Steve’s arm around Bucky’s shoulders.

“I made us dinner,” Steve says proudly, panning the camera down to their meals and then to Bucky, who only scowls at the camera.

“You’re a keeper, Rogers,” Tony says, voice crackling over the speakers.

“What about me?” Bucky asks through a mouthful of noodles. “I did the _dishes_ today!”

Steve glances to the empty sink and seems impressed. “He actually did do the dishes,” he says, then looks to Bucky. “I didn’t even know you knew how.”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“So, no confessions of love yet?” Tony checks, clearly bored.

Steve looks back to Bucky, face innocent as he sarcastically asks, “I don’t know. Do you have anything to tell me, Buck?”

Bucky freezes when he sees the look on Steve’s face. He’s so calm and inquisitive, like he is genuinely asking the question even if Bucky knows it’s a joke. The worst part is that Bucky wants to nod his head and tell him about this ridiculous crush he’s had on Steve since they were kids.

He can’t, though, and only shakes his head, saying something equally as sarcastic to Steve.


	3. DAY TWO

Bucky wakes up before his alarm clock goes off.

He’s not sure whether it’s because he’s somehow managed to get the perfect amount of sleep and his body is blissfully rested or if it’s Steve stealing all the covers and kicking him in his sleep. He goes with the latter.

Either way, it’s seven in the morning and Bucky is unplugging his phone from the charger and disabling the alarm so he doesn’t wake Steve up with it. He checks his email lazily, but then clicks it off when nothing important comes in. His class isn’t until eight, so he lies a little longer, trying his best not to actually fall back asleep.

Rolling over a little, he peers at Steve, who is lying on his back, blankets pulled up to his chin and his mouth slightly parted. Bucky can hear his soft, even breathing and has to resist the urge to lean forward and brush the tuft of blond hair from his forehead. He looks so soft and carefree in the bedroom’s lighting, the half-parted curtain letting in the rising sun.

Bucky thinks that if they were really husbands, he’d lean in and kiss him awake, let his hands curl in his soft hair and whisper sweet things to him just because he can.

He’s not his husband, though, so he gets out of bed as quietly as he can and gets ready to leave.

Bucky still remembers the first time he met Steve, the two of them in the same second grade class. Steve had gotten tripped in the hallway on the way to lunch and Bucky had helped him up and took him to the nurse’s office. He would’ve done it for anyway, but he’s happy he did it for Steve. That one chance encounter led to life-long friendship, and sometimes Bucky forgets how lucky he truly he is that he did help up Steve that day.

After that, they were inseparable. It wasn’t until middle school, though, that Bucky started to realize he was into guys and then shortly after that he was also into one specific guy, Steve Rogers. He knew both things had to stay benign. Though, he did eventually tell Steve he was gay during freshman year, an awkward, impulsive moment at a sleepover that only led to Steve hugging him (for an embarrassingly long amount of time) and assuring him nothing was going to change.

And it’s didn’t.

If anything, they’re relationship only got smoother after that. It felt like any secret after that point wasn’t as hard to say and so they told each other everything. Except for, of course, the crush, which Bucky didn’t fool himself into thinking could ever strengthen their relationship like his coming out. So, the crush remained, even dulled a little when Bucky got his first boyfriend in his freshmen year of college (Matt, a psych major whose greatest moments were the blowjobs he gave Bucky).

Now, though, the crush had become second nature. He knew he couldn’t let it go, and he knew he couldn’t act on it, so he had kept it on the back-burner as much as he could and kept on living. Surprisingly, it became easy (though it had been tested when Steve dated Sharon, a math major who would constantly glare at Steve every time he broke into laughter too loudly).

That’s why the fact that he’s currently playing goddamn _house_ with Steve for a bet is so absurd.

He tries not to think about it as he walks to class, and then tries even harder when he sits through a two-hour lecture on Russian literature. He half-heartedly scribbles down wrong spellings to thick-sounding last names of authors he’ll probably never care about until the professor lets them leave. As usual, he heads to the café a few minutes away, finding Natasha and Sam sitting in the corner table on their laptops. They barely even look up when Bucky sits, his black coffee burning his hands.

“I hate you guys,” he tells them as he adds a few sugar packets.

Natasha’s lips curl up in a smile but she says nothing. Sam, though, looks up from his laptop looking accomplished. “So, the marriage is going well, I take it?” he asks.

“Stark told me that they were cuddling at night and cooking each other dinner already,” Natasha says, still typing away.

“That,” Bucky says, “is an exaggeration.”

Sam, though, is already busting up and even pretending to wipe imaginary tears from his eyes. “You’re like my parents,” he jokes.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Steve bought me _Chinese_ and we _don’t_ cuddle. I mean, sometimes he kicks me in his sleep but that’s not really – “

“You’re still going to lose the bet,” Natasha says.

“Wrong,” Bucky tells them. “And you’re going to help me win it, too. I need something ‘nice’ to do for Steve, and I have no idea what Tony even wants.”

Sam and Natasha look to each other, exchanging some amused glance before Natasha goes, “It really shouldn’t be that difficult for you, James.”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “You probably already did something and you just haven’t realized it yet.”

“I did wear socks in bed because I know Steve hates when I don’t,” Bucky offers.

“Oh my god,” Natasha breathes out, finally stopping typing to look up from her laptop. “That does _not_ count.”

Bucky stares down at his coffee trying to think of something he could do for Steve. It’s ridiculous that he can’t come up with even one single good idea considering how often over the years that Bucky’s had to refrain from doing some things that just came off as being too romantic. Now, he finally has a free pass to smother Steve in the cheesiest of romantic gestures but suddenly his mind is blank.

“You know,” Sam says, looking a little hesitant to say anything. “I don’t want you to win, but it’s pathetic seeing you like this. So, maybe you could try _actually_ cooking dinner for Steve.”

Bucky thinks it’s a good idea but – “You know I can’t cook.”

“Anyone can cook,” Natasha says with a roll of her eyes. “All of you have to do is read the recipes.”

“But it’s Bucky we’re talking about,” Sam points out to Natasha.

Bucky ignores him and goes, “What would I cook?”

The only thing that Bucky every makes in his tiny kitchen are Hot Pockets and the occasional oven pizzas.

Natasha only shrugs. “Fish?”

Sam goes, “That is so not romantic,” just as Bucky goes, “Steve doesn’t like seafood.”

Natasha sighs. “Okay, chicken?”

Bucky opens his mouth to automatically complain but he stops himself because chicken really isn’t the worst idea. He could even pick up some vegetables or maybe a dessert with it and Steve will be blown away by efforts. Not to mention, Tony will be too.

“I gotta go” Bucky says hurriedly, standing up and nearly dropping his coffee as he puts back on his backpack. “Thanks for the ideas,” he shouts at Natasha and Sam before leaving.

***

When Bucky gets back from the store, heaving three bags of groceries onto the counter, Steve is gone. Bucky’s memorized his schedule so he knows he’s in an art history class and then has a shift at the coffee shop and won’t be back until five or so. Bucky hangs out for a bit before starting the meal, even putting on the apron that Steve keeps stashed away in the cupboard above the fridge.

When Steve does get home, Bucky in the middle of making glazed carrots and cursing when he nearly burns himself, Steve just laughs at the scene.

“What are you doing?” he asks, eyebrow quirked up as he leans against the fridge.

Bucky tries to block the view of the pan. “It’s a surprise,” he says. “But I’m making dinner for us.”

Steve seems impressed, smiling as he looks down to type something on his phone. As Bucky finishes the meal, feverishly double-checking everything to make sure he hasn’t messed anything up, Steve watches on looking amused, the two of them chatting about their days and Steve sending a photo of Bucky cooking (in his apron and holding up a spatula) to Tony. When he tries to grab some plates to set the table (no matter how much Sam calls it a desk, it _is_ a table), Bucky swats his hand away and does it himself, even folding the napkins into triangles before putting the silverware on top of them. It’s about as classy as Bucky can manage.

“Jeez, Buck, your really going all out for this,” Steve says as he sits in one of the chairs.

Bucky carefully places a piece of chicken on either of their places, praying that they’re cooked enough so they don’t end up with salmonella, and since there’s no room for the pan, Buck also scoops out a generous amount of carrots onto either of their plates. Then, nearly burning himself on the pan he pulls from the oven, Bucky slices up a few pieces of bread to put on the side of the table. His finishing touch (which only makes Steve giggle) is lighting the single white candle in the middle of the table since Bucky knows Steve’s always liked a little bit of classic romance, no matter how cliché.

And, for added effect, Bucky holds out his arms and goes, “Bon appetite.”

Steve only grins wider, looking from the table to Bucky. “Maybe I will have to marry you for real if I can look forward to this.”

It’s a joke, and yet Bucky can’t help but to let it make his knees goes weak and his stomach to flip nervously. Bucky looks down, face going red as he tries to clumsily sit down. Steve doesn’t notice, though, because he’s already eating, looking up to Bucky with an impressed face. “It’s even edible,” he says, and then with a softer voice, “It’s pretty good, too, Buck.”

Bucky feels his face get even hotter, and he hopes that Steve doesn’t notice. He only mutters a quick thanks before starting in on the food himself. Steve’s right, too, it is decent considering Bucky made it. They eat in silence for a few moments, the two of them enjoying the food and not feeling the reason to talk really.

Then, though, Steve goes, “Is this your date night?”

“ _No_ ,” Bucky exclaims. “Come on, I’m going to do way better than this.”

Or, at least Bucky hopes he will. He hasn’t exactly come up with the specifics of what to do on their date night, but over the years he’s listened to Steve make comments about his perfect date, and Bucky never really thought he’d be able to use the information until now.

“Those are pretty high standards,” Steve comments, tearing his piece of bread in half. “My date, though, you’re not even ready for it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve assures him. “It’s perfect. You’re going to love it.”

It almost amuses Bucky how quickly Steve had come up with his date idea. He hasn’t thought about it until now, but it has to be a little strange that Bucky, the one carrying the lifetime torch, wasn’t the first to come up with a perfect date. Either way, the prospect of Steve’s “perfect” date is already making him anxious and excited.

“Well, when is this perfect date?” Bucky asks.

Steve thinks for a moment before going, “Neither of us has class or work tomorrow, so we could do it then? You’re free right?”

Bucky blinks at him a few times before nodding. “Sure, yeah,” Bucky says, heart beating in double time. “Tomorrow. Sounds good.”

Bucky was expecting at least a few more days to mentally prepare himself for the night that he’s been casually dreaming about since he was fourteen.

Steve looks at him softly for a moment, and he’s just about to say something, but then his phone starts ringing. “That’ll be Tony,” he mutters, standing up to retrieve his phone from the kitchen counter.

Bucky looks down to his meal and thinks about the date. What is he supposed to wear? What is supposed to say when Steve cracks a million husband jokes? What is he supposed to do when the whole night is set up for a romantic kiss at the end and their lives falling into place together?

Bucky’s so distracted by his thoughts he doesn’t even hear Steve gush about his meal to Tony or when he pans the camera over. He only catches Steve go, “ _Buck_. Earth to Bucky. Tony wants to know who gave you the idea for cooking dinner.”

“No one,” Bucky defends. It was mostly his idea, really.

“Liar!” Natasha’s voice says over the phone, and Bucky really should’ve assumed he was being set up.

“I was the one who cooked it,” Bucky says. “Therefor it was my idea.”

Neither Tony nor Natasha look amused, but Steve is still happily chewing on his meal so he figures he hasn’t committed too bad of an act.

“What? No champagne?” Tony asks, offhandedly.

Bucky shoots up from his chair letting out a surprised noise. In a tall paper bag, he pulls out a bottle of wine that he presents to Steve and his phone. “It was more than ten dollars,” he tells them proudly.

“My husband is a big spender,” Steve tells his phone, sending Bucky a big, appreciative smile his way.

Steve doesn’t actually own any stemmed wine glasses, so he ends up pouring the wine into two plastic cups. Steve doesn’t seem to mind and they dramatically clink their cups together so that Natasha and Tony can see it.

“Not bad,” Steve hums, and Bucky shrugs because it’s not that great, either.

Bucky leans against Steve into frame and goes, “Now, can we please enjoy the rest of the meal without the peanut gallery.”

Natasha pretends to be offended but Tony only nods. “But first, though,” he says in that voice that only means trouble. “I want the goodnight kiss.”

“ _Tony_ ,” Bucky starts, but just as he says it Steve leans in, giving him an audible, wet kiss on the cheek, already looking back to the camera with a goofy grin on his face.

Bucky’s face is burning again, but with the bad lighting of Steve’s apartment, you can’t actually tell on the camera. Tony looks appeased, making another sly remark before hanging up on them and leaving them to their meal.

“We should totally get more of this bread,” Steve says nonchalantly as Bucky sits back in his seat, feeling wobbly for the second time that night.

Bucky nods dumbly. “Yeah, sure.”

It’s then that he looks up to find Steve smiling softly at him, the candle flickering between the two of them. From below the table, Steve’s socked foot intentionally knocks against Bucky’s. “Thanks for cooking for me,” he says. “Reminded me of my mom’s cooking.”

This doesn’t make Bucky blush, but it does make him feel warm all over and he smile back just as sweetly to Steve. It’s an important compliment, since Steve rarely brings up his mother but when he does Bucky knows it’s always for important things.

He knocks his foot back against Steve’s and hopes it’s enough for him to know he’s grateful.


	4. DAY THREE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to say thanks again to those who are sweet enough to comment/kudo. You guys are great :")

 

Steve insists on another couples jog.

He wakes Bucky up by leaning right into Bucky’s ear and his whispering his name until Bucky splutters away, nearly socking Steve in the face for scaring him.

“Jesus, can you wake me up like a normal person for once,” Bucky complains, a little concerned that he actually hurt Steve even if his half-open fist really only grazed the side of his face before unclenching and falling to the bed.

Steve still pretends to be hurt, rubbing the side of his head dramatically. “ _Ow_ , Buck,” he whines. “I was just trying to be a loving husband.”

“Do you want me to kiss it to make it better?” Bucky hums, not even thinking of the implications to the statement.

Steve (of course) jumps at this, moving his head closer so that Bucky can lean in (with hesitation and impulsivity) and softly kiss Steve’s temple where it’s gone red from Steve rubbing it. Steve moves back, tucking his arms behinds his head with a satisfied smirk.

Bucky knows that he’s probably blushing again, but it’s easier to hide it in the blankets he pulls up to his eyes, just enough so that he can still peak out and see Steve smiling up at the ceiling. It’s a blissful few minutes, the two of them just lying there, the sounds of the city right outside their windows, the honking horns sounding incredibly far away.

It can’t last, though, because Steve goes, “Get up, we’re going jogging again.”

Bucky groans. “Why? We did it once, took the photo for Tony, and now we don’t have to ever do it again.”

Steve was already getting up off the bed and throwing off his sleep t-shirt. “Sorry,” he tells Bucky. “You gotta do what your husband likes. That’s, like, the most important rule of marriage.”

Bucky scoffs. “I really don’t think that’s accurate.”

“Too bad,” Steve says, and then with a serious tone, “I like having you there. You make it better.”

This obviously makes Bucky sit up, blankets falling in his lap. “Yeah?”

“Obviously,” Steve says casually, like he doesn’t even think it’s important.

It’s important enough to Bucky, though, to get him out of bed (and maybe slightly also because of post-workout Steve Rogers, shirt half-soaked before he slips it off) and put back on that stupid tracksuit of Steve’s, that only prompts him to laugh at Bucky again before snapping a photo (“Not for Tony, I just think you look so funny in that,” Steve tells him, practically in tears).

It’s warmer than it was on their first jog, which only makes Bucky sweat more and fall behind Steve even more. Steve falls back, though, and jogs in place until Bucky catches up. At one point, though, as they’re turning the corner of a more residential area, Bucky’s foot hooks onto the edge of a perimeter fence, sending him flying to the ground before he even realizes what’s happened.

Thankfully, his arms take most of the fall and not his face, but Steve is crouched down with his hands carefully picking him up in a matter of milliseconds. “You okay?” he asks, forehead creased with worry as he holds Bucky.

The whole thing happens so fast that Bucky doesn’t actually register the pain until Steve asks, and suddenly his knees and wrists are burning. Mostly, though, he just feels a little shaken and embarrassed. “Yeah,” Bucky finally spits out, just because Steve is still giving him that worried look, hands warm on his chest. “I’m all good.”

Bucky stands a little wobbly, Steve instantly clutching onto him in case he falls. “Can you walk alright? Do I need to call a cab?” Steve asks rapidly.

“No, I’m fine,” Bucky tells him instantly, walking a few awkward steps before going, “Besides, you know the rule, Steve. We only pay for cabs when we’re blackout drunk or bleeding heavily.”

Steve still looks concerned, but when he sees Bucky walk mostly normal, he nods. “We’re only, like, twenty minutes from the apartment. You good to walk it? I think there’s a subway stop about – “

“Come on, Steve, I’m fine,” Bucky interrupts, pulling Steve down the sidewalk.

The walk back is quiet. Bucky knows that Steve is still worried, but Bucky keeps the winces to a minimum. When they get back to the apartment, Bucky stands in the kitchen, expecting Steve to rush to the shower, but instead, once the door is closed, Steve walks up to Bucky and looks him up down for injuries, then with a soft smile on his face, goes, “Do you need me to kiss it better?”

Bucky wants to smile back at him, and make some silly joke, but he’s frozen. All he really wants to do is say _yes_ and _please_. Bucky wants Steve’s lips on him, and his arms around his neck. It takes a pathetic few seconds for Bucky’s brain to catch up. “Are you gonna steal the shower or can I?” he asks, hoping that they can just play off the few awkward moments where they just stared at each other heatedly.

Steve’s shoulders drop a little, like he’s disappointed (Bucky’s definitely reading a little too much into it) and then shrugs. “You can go first,” he says, “but only because you’re injured.”

Bucky forces out a smile and then heads to the bathroom before he can make more of a fool of himself.

***

While Steve is showering, Bucky calls Natasha since he knows Sam is working. He’s drying off his hair with his towel and listening to the ringing for at least half a minute before Natasha answers, probably right before it goes to voicemail.

“Help me,” Bucky says before she can even get anything out.

He can hear her scoff. “You finally realized you’re in love with him, then?”

“ _No_ ,” Bucky says, voice steady after years of practice. “But Steve’s date is tonight.” He pauses, takes a deep breath, and with the knowledge that Natasha is sure to make fun of him for it, he goes, “And I’m nervous.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“James,” Natasha says, without even laughing. “It’s literally going to be like any other night out with Steve. There’s no reason to be nervous.”

Except there is. Bucky isn’t going to tell her, but he’s been a bundle of nerves about the night ever since Steve brought it up. It hasn’t exactly been easy keeping his crush down at certain points in his and Steve’s relationships, and he can think of a few moments off the top of his head where he had almost let it slip.

Once, one night when they had spent the whole day watching movies together and drinking beer, they had turned whatever movie they were watching on mute and talked to each other for hours, the two of them lazily curling in on each other. It had almost slipped when Steve had buried his face into Bucky’s neck, breathily laughing into his skin.

Another time, they had been sharing a coffee (that Steve had bought but had kindly offered to an exhausted Bucky without hesitation) outside of one of Steve’s lecture halls. It was finals week and Steve was jittery on too much coffee and nervousness from his tests. Bucky had put his hands on either of Steve’s shoulders and assured him he’d do fine, and when Steve had asked how he was so sure, Bucky had almost let it slip, had almost told him because he fucking loved him and knew he’d do great.

Had hadn’t, though, and that was the point.

Now, he was supposed to sit through an entire romantic date with Steve and try to keep his mouth shut. He couldn’t say this, though, so he only clears his throat and mumbles out, “Yeah, but Steve keeps talking about how it’s the ‘perfect’ date,” Bucky says, making the bunny ears with his hands even if Natasha can’t see.

“ _And_?”

“And…I’m _nervous_ , I don’t know,” Bucky says. He rubs his face, feeling embarrassed for even making the call so impulsively.

Natasha sighs in to the receiver. “Bucky,” she says, voice serious. “Can we just be honest with each other?”

Bucky doesn’t like the sound of her voice, and feels a little sick already because he knows where this is going. Stupidly, though, he lets out an unsteady, “Yeah.”

“I know you have a crush on him,” she tells him. “And, I mean, I’ve suspected it for a while. But then, with the way you’ve been acting about this bet, it’s clear you do. And that’s okay, it’s just…Maybe you should tell him.”

At first, Bucky wants to get defensive, like he’s done ever since he realized his feelings, but he doesn’t. He heaves out a sigh and doesn’t make up some excuse or angrily tell Natasha off for the first time in his life. It’s unnerving and makes Bucky feels sick, for it to be known, but mostly, it’s relieving. He clenches his eyes shut when he weakly goes, “I don’t want to lose him.”

“You don’t know that you will,” Natasha says after a pause.

Bucky tries not to laugh. “Nat, he’s _straight_.”

“How long did you know you weren’t before you told him?”

“ _Stop_ ,” Bucky says, throat suddenly tight like he’s going to cry. “Don’t do this. I’m not telling him, okay? He’s my _best friend_.” He pauses, and then with anger, goes, “Just because you think we’d be cute together doesn’t mean that you can just – It doesn’t mean _anything_.”

“You don’t know the whole situation,” Natasha starts.

Bucky cuts her off, though, when he hears the steady stream of the shower stop. “Look, I have to go,” he says hurriedly. “Don’t tell anyone about this. I’m serious. No one.”

Natasha sighs again before agreeing and hanging up. Bucky sits at the end of Steve’s bed with his face in his hands before he forces himself to get up before Steve comes in wanting to get changed.

***

Bucky and Steve spend the day lazing around the apartment.

Mostly, Bucky’s able to shake the mess of feelings he got from his call with Natasha. Steve’s smile when he finds out there’s a whole show on the Animal Planet about big cats in Africa is enough to thaw him out, make him feel less like he’s drowning.

It’s not until around four, when Steve says they should get ready, that Bucky really begins to get nervous again. His heart beats too fast and his stomach hurts, but he sits on Steve’s bed and watches him paw through his shirts for something to wear.

“What should _I_ wear?” Bucky asks, hoping maybe it will give him a hint to what they’ll be doing.

Steve shrugs. “Something warm. Nothing fancy, though.”

This doesn’t help Bucky at all, and he ends up searching through his bag for a decent sweater, but all he’s brought are old ragged ones that he probably picked up at thrift stores a few years ago. Steve doesn’t mention anything, though, but he does lock him in his bedroom so he can do something in the kitchen, the whole apartment smelling like something Bucky can’t quite identify.

When Steve tells him he can come out, he’s already wrapped in his coat and a scarf, his school backpack on. Bucky’s eyes flick to the kitchen, but it’s spotless, no traces of what Steve was doing left over.

“Hurry up,” Steve says, looking excited. Bucky puts on his shoes and shrugs on his coat, but Steve looks at him with worry before going, “You’re feeling better, right?”

Bucky’s still a little embarrassed about the ordeal but he rolls his eyes. “It was nothing.”

Steve nods, still looking concerned, but Bucky realizes it’s for a different reason when Steve digs through his coat closet and retrieves a knit hat that he puts on Bucky’s head, right over his eyes. Bucky thinks he’s ridiculous, but he appreciates the gesture as he fixes it so he can actually see.

Steve guides them through the streets as Bucky still tries to figure out what exactly Steve has planned. He takes them to the nearest subway station, though, and even offers Bucky his metro card, which is more of a gesture than anything else since Steve knows he just buys the monthly pass. The A Line is as busy as it usually is, and Steve and Bucky squish into each other in favor of being too close to the strangers until they can snag two free seats next to each other.

Bucky waits at each stop for Steve to get up, but he doesn’t, only smiles mischievously at Bucky as they make small talk. By the time they hit the half-hour mark, Bucky realizes where they’re going, the map of the line ending at Rockaway Beach. He pretends like he doesn’t know, just to keep watching Steve smile at him.

It takes another twenty minutes, but the last stop on the line is called out, and Steve is clamoring up, pulling Bucky up with his hand circling his wrist.

He’s only been to this beach a couple of times, but Steve knows he’s always loved beaches. It’s the middle of winter, though, but Steve only giggles as he leads them to the water. The beach is mostly empty, only a few stragglers walking around, and then sun is setting, turning the sky a fiery red and pink gradient. They trudge through the sand that is uncovered from the lack of snow this year, the sound of the waves hitting loud.

Close to the water, Steve stops them and then unzips his backpack and pulls out a bed sheet, spreading it over the sand. He gestures for Bucky to sit, and when he does, Bucky goes, “It’s fucking freezing, you know?”

Steve is still rummaging through his backpack, but then presents Bucky with two thermoses. Bucky finally realizes what he had smelt at Steve’s apartment: _soup_.

“Rogers, you’re embarrassing,” Bucky says, laughing into his hands before accepting the thermos.

Steve only laughs at this. “But you love me either way.”

“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs.

He unscrews the cap to the thermos and looks up at the sunset. He’s certain that Steve planned it like this because he always laughs whenever Bucky pulls out his phone to take a photo of the sun going down. It’s not just the sunset, though, that makes Bucky’s heart clench. It’s the entire thought of it, especially the creativity that only Steve could come up with.

Bucky leans in close to Steve, the two of their bodies pressed against each other, because he figures that if there was ever an appropriate time, this would be it. Plus, it’s fucking freezing.

“Oh,” Steve hums from beside him. From his backpack, he pulls out a metal flask and places it on Bucky’s thigh. “In case you’re thirsty.”

Bucky curls into Steve’s shoulder and laughs, his cold nose pressing into Steve’s warm coat. He’s not sure if it’s the cold or his nerves, but he’s nearly shaking with how giddy he feels. After laughing, Steve joining him, nearly choking on his soup, Bucky settles the thermos between his thighs to take a drink from the flask.

His face twists up as he chokes out, “Vodka?”

“All I had in the cupboard.” Steve shrugs, face red from the cold. Bucky hands the flask over to him and he takes a drink too, face twisting up just as Bucky’s had.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the warmth of the soup and the warmth of each other. The sunset is fading as the sun goes down. It’s not exactly what Bucky had imagined over the years of their first date, but it’s somehow better than anything his own imagination could’ve come up with.

Bucky is taking a sip of his soup when Steve goes, “If it was summer we could’ve gone skinny dipping,” which only prompts Bucky to start choking. Steve is laughing when he slaps Bucky’s back as he coughs, which really only makes Bucky laugh and cough at the same time. Once he’s settled down some, Steve smirks into the sunset. “Guess you like that idea,” he says.

“I hate you,” Bucky tells him, knocking his shoulders against him.

Steve looks over to him. “I hate you, too.”

Bucky thinks that if he really was Steve’s husband, this would be the part where he’d lean in and kiss him. And keeps kissing him until they’re both warm and satisfied and that dumb, adorable smirk is off Steve’s face.

He’s isn’t, though, so he settles for taking another sip of his soup and watch the last bits of colors dull out of the sky.

They finish their soups and end up lying down next to each other, passing the flask between the two of them, trying not to choke when they take sips. Bucky grows warmer and warmer by the minute, and he knows it’s the alcohol but it’s also Steve. Especially when Bucky passes the flask, their hands bumping slightly, and Steve goes, “Your hands are cold,” before he moves the flask to his other hand and entwines their fingers.

For all of Bucky’s worrying, it’s easier than he’d expected to not say anything about his crush. If anything, Steve’s hand in his only reminds him why he can’t tell his best friend anything. Steve would never hold his hand like this if he knew. Everything would be weird. Now, though, it isn’t weird. So, Bucky grips tighter and smiles into the sky.

“You know,” Steve says. “I meant for there to be stars. Since, you know, you said once you wanted to see them out of the city. But…light pollution and all.”

Bucky swallows hard. It’s only fitting that Steve would remember some offhand comment. “It’s pretty perfect, either way,” Bucky tells him.

Steve squeezes his hand. “Good.”

They can only spend so long on the beach trading stories before they finally admit defeat to the cold and pack everything away, lopsidedly walking to the subway. Steve is a bit drunk (always been a light-weight) and Bucky leads him into the convenient store next to the subway to grab a few water bottles.

When they’re checking out, Bucky paying with a wad of dollar bills he gets when he works as waiter downtown, Steve throws an arm around his shoulders. To the cashier, Steve goes, “He’s my husband.”

The cashier seems indifferent to this news. It only makes Steve giggle, though. “We don’t have rings yet,” he says, and then looks worried when he turns to Bucky. “I should probably get on that, huh?”

Bucky takes the plastic bag the cashier holds out and nods. “You should.”

They get back on the A Train and sit next to each other at the end of the car. Steve rests his head on Bucky’s shoulder with a yawn and a half-intelligible, “I’m sleepy now.” He falls asleep before the next stop, and by the one after that, Bucky’s head is leaning against Steve’s.


	5. DAY FOUR

 

They’ve been sharing beds since they were in second grade. It started as a long-awaited sleepover and stretched out into their teen years and then into their twenties. It’s never been strange for both of them to crawl under the covers together, legs and elbows knocking against each other’s. And maybe they were getting too old for it, but it was more out of convenience than anything else.

Sometimes, though, they end up like they do this morning, Bucky facing the wall, body curled slightly, and Steve’s chest pushed against Bucky’s back, arm slung around his torso. It’s only ever once in a while, and usually ends with muttered apologies from Steve that usually go like, “I’m a natural cuddler,” even if Bucky clearly knows he’s not really.

When it does happen, Bucky savors it. It’s probably wrong, but Bucky’s passed that line long along (like possibly from the first time he zoned out in the middle of a conversation with Steve and idly thought about kissing hickey’s into his neck). So, when Bucky wakes up, not even having to wonder who’s against him, he only closes his eyes again and thinks about their date, wondering how long they’ll be able to stay like this.

Most of the date seems like a far-away dream, like it didn’t really happen or Bucky is making it all up. The alcohol probably didn’t help, but even without it Bucky thinks it would all still feel so hazy. The crashing of the waves, and the taste of vodka, Steve’s hand in his, the quiet subway ride back all mixes together into an intoxicating memory. It doesn’t help that Steve’s wrapped around him, breathing softly into Bucky’s neck.

After a particularly loud car horn outside, Steve rustles awake, his hand twitching from where it’s lazily hanging over Bucky’s torso and his legs shifting. It takes a moment, but Steve presses his forehead into Bucky’s neck and mutters, “Hey.”

He’s not sure how he knows he’s awake (Bucky figures he’s had years of practice), but he stays perfectly still when he says, “Morning.”

There’s a few moments of silence where Bucky wonders if Steve is going back to bed, but then moves closer, so his can hook his chin over Bucky’s shoulder. “Was supposed to go on a jog today,” he mutters, voice groggy. “Don’t wanna move, though.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, a little surprised. Usually, Steve is quick to move away, but he stays now and it makes Bucky’s stomach flip in excitement. He almost doesn’t say it, but then goes, “Then you shouldn’t.”

“You’re very convincing,” Steve hums.

He moves his head back so he’s breathing against Bucky’s neck, breath hot on his skin. They don’t say anything for a while, and Bucky’s not sure how long it really is that they spend against each other, but he almost slips back to sleep but at some point Steve goes, “You’re a better cuddler than all my other husbands.”

“Impressive,” Bucky says. “Considering how many you’ve had.”

Steve laughs breathily before he abruptly moves away, leaving Bucky cold and disappointed as he gets out of bed. “Come on,” Steve tells him softly. “I have class and you have work.”

Bucky groans. “I’m calling in sick.”

“No, you’re not,” Steve tells him. “You’re going to get fired if you keep doing that.”

He’s right, but Bucky just rolls over, so he can watch as Steve goes through his closet. Bucky wishes it could always be like this with usual date nights and lazy mornings. Worst of all, though, Bucky almost wishes he could have never experienced any of this. Before, the thought of some domestic relationship with Steve had always been some fantasy, something that Bucky’s always had to make up in his head, but now Bucky’s lived it, and he’ll never be able to forget this all. Part of him thinks maybe it would’ve been easier to have never known what it was like.

How long is he possibly supposed to keep this up?

Before, he had known that he could deal with his crush for the long haul. Now, though, it feels like it’s always ready to fall off his tongue every other breath. And, above all, it felt wrong to keep it from Steve.

“Steve,” Bucky says slowly, feeling sick.

From the closet, Steve looks over. “Hm?”

Bucky flounders and thinks of a hundred things he could say to Steve right now.

All that comes out is, “I don’t want to get up.”

Steve smiles at him. “Well, I’m going to go take a shower,” he says, oblivious to Bucky’s breakdown. “When I come back you better be out of this bed.”

Bucky forces a smile and watches Steve go. Once he hears the water running, Bucky rolls out of bed, heading to the kitchen. He’s half-tempted to text Natasha about it, just because he actually can, but he knows what she’ll say. And telling Steve is out of the question.

So, Bucky doesn’t text Natasha some sort of SOS, but instead pulls out a frying pan and the bread he’s seen in the pantry all week and starts on breakfast. The kitchen seems quiet as he works, cracking eggs into a plastic bowl and finding the milk in the fridge. Bucky wants to think everything all over, but he forces himself not to. It’s easier to just think about the task at hand.

When Steve comes out of the bedroom after his shower, smelling fresh and dressed in a pair of black jeans and a light grey long sleeve, and sees the plate of the first few pieces of French toast Bucky’s made, his eyes light up and go big.

“You’re too good for me,” he exclaims, already covering them in sticky syrup.

Bucky tries not to scoff.

After a few thoughtful chews, Steve nods and goes, “You’re practically a professional chef now a days.”

“You wish.”

Steve smiles and so does Bucky before he turns back to the stove. He makes a few more before settling across from Steve at the table.

“Hey,” Steve says. “Are you gonna be back for dinner tonight?”

“Probably not. Why? You making me something?”

Steve laughs. “Yeah, _no_. Was actually going to pick you up something but I guess I don’t have to anymore.”

“Sorry,” Bucky says, looking up.

Steve points his empty fork at him and goes, “You should be, punk.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Jerk.”

***

Bucky ends up not coming home for dinner because he goes out with Natasha and Sam.

He almost cancels on them, to go home and hang out with Steve, but he figures maybe he could use some time away from him. So, after a long shift at the restaurant, Bucky takes the subway to where he’s meeting them and somehow ends up late, having to be awkwardly escorted to the table by the hostess.

“You’re late,” Natasha says when he sits down next to Sam, shrugging off his coat. “And you’re still wearing your nametag.”

Bucky looks down to find she’s right, and quickly unclips it from his shirt and slips it into his coat pocket, running his hand through his hair tiredly. “It was a long day.”

“ _Please_ ,” Sam says. “All you do is serve expensive food and get tipped too much for using those sweet, puppy eyes.”

“Funny, really,” Bucky hums. “That reminds me, though, make sure to tip our waiter, yeah?”

Bucky’s still having flashbacks to the dinner party that didn’t leave a single tip for him. He tries to put it in the back of his mind as he orders a drink, Natasha and Sam both still arguing over what appetizer to get. Once it’s settled they talk about their days and Bucky tells him about his party from hell, and Sam talks about his biology class, and Natasha about something ridiculous Bruce and Tony were cooking up recently.

But, of course, the talk has to come back to Steve and Bucky.

“Tony is still waiting for his wedding invitation,” Sam teases.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “And I’m waiting for the fifty dollars he owes me.”

Natasha is suspiciously quiet from across the table. She’s looking at Bucky intently, clearly trying to figure out the situation based off his face. Before Bucky can say something to deflect her stare, Sam notices and looks between them curiously.

“What is _that_ look?” he demands. “Am I missing something?”

“Nothing,” Bucky and Natasha say at the same time, which is really just the nail in the coffin.

“Oh, _hell_ no,” Sam says. “What is going on?” He turns to Natasha. “Does he know you know?”

“Know _what_?” Bucky nearly shouts to Natasha.

Natasha looks back and forth between Bucky and Sam before finally heaving out a sigh and leaning back against the booth. She looks at Bucky and goes, “You can’t be angry.”

“You told him?” Bucky says, voice high and nearly catching embarrassingly.

“ _No_ ,” she corrects. “He already knew like I did. And I guess I just, I don’t know, gave it away when we were talking. He already knew, though, so – “

“Jesus, Natasha, it took you one fucking day for you to tell him,” Bucky hisses, snatching up his coat with the full intentions of leaving.

“Come on, give me some credit,” Sam says. “You made it pretty obvious.”

Bucky freezes right as he’s getting out of the booth. “How did I make it obvious?” he asks, suddenly fear-stricken with the thought of even Steve being able to tell.

There’s only one thing worse than Bucky telling Steve about his crush, and it’s Steve already knowing about it.

“Okay, it’s not _that_ obvious,” Sam backtracks. “We’ve just got really keen eyes for this stuff, and with everything happening with the bet it’s easier – “

“Who else knows?” Bucky demands, interrupting Sam because he doesn’t even want to know where that thought ends.

Natasha and Sam both give Bucky a worried look, like they’re silently debating how much information to divulge before Bucky tries to leave again.

After a long moment Bucky weakly asks, “Does…Steve know?”

“No way,” Sam assures him.

Natasha nods. “And if he suspects something, he’s just gonna think it’s the bet.”

This doesn’t exactly console Bucky but it does help bring his heart rate down. He puts his head in his hands and rubs at his eyes. He’s spent years thinking he was doing a perfect job at hiding it from everyone and especially Steve. Now, Bucky’s trying to go through every memory to find his mistakes.

Sam places an awkward hand on his shoulder. It’s supposed to make Bucky feel better but instead makes him feel worse.

“What am I supposed to do?” Bucky groans, already dreading having to go back to the apartment.

Neither of them offers any advice, and when Bucky looks up, he finds them giving him hard looks. He already knows what they’re going to say before they have to open their mouths.

“You have to tell him,” Natasha says. “Before he finds out on his own.”

Bucky slumps into the booth and sighs. She makes it sound easy. “I don’t think I’m ready,” Bucky admits.

“You might not ever be ready, but you still have to do it,” Natasha says.

Bucky thinks maybe she’s right.

***

Bucky spends the entire subway ride home trying to figure out how he’s going to tell Steve.

It feels like there is too much to say. Bucky tries to sift through everything he needs to say and smooth it out, but just when he thinks of something he needs to say, he’s reminded of something else equally important that Steve will need to know.

Mostly, though, Bucky can’t help thinking that he’s walking to Steve’s apartment for the last time. He can practically already envision the look on Steve’s face when he finds out. Bucky feels like it’s inevitable that I’ll be hurt and disgust and confusion. Things won’t be the same, and he knows that too, but he has to do it.

When Bucky is outside the door, key in his palm, he hesitates. Mostly, he wants to bolt and head back to his apartment, spending the night alone and cold in his own bed. He doesn’t, though, and instead lets himself in.

Music is playing softly and the apartment smells sweet. Bucky drops his bag near the door and toes out of his shoes to find Steve in the kitchen with his back turned to him. There’s a mixing bowl in his grip and and a baking pan on the stovetop that Steve is putting dough on. He’s humming along to the song and it makes Bucky smile a little.

“Hey,” Bucky says, throat feeling tight with all his nerves.

Steve starts, nearly dropping the mixing bowl to the ground. “Jesus, Buck, you scared me,” he says, heaving out a relieved sigh.

Bucky tries not to laugh, only softly smiles, and feels a little better. He still feels like he’ll possibly throw up, but it’s definitely an improvement. “Sorry,” he mutters, stepping closer to peer into the mixing bowl that Steve is still clutching.

“Peanut butter cookies,” Steve supplies. “Felt like I was lacking in the good husband department.”

“Or you just wanted cookies,” Bucky teases. Steve rolls his eyes and smiles, going back to filling the tray. Bucky slips his phone out of his pocket and takes a photo, the clicking sound making Steve turn around. Bucky shrugs. “It’s for Tony.”

“Mm,” he hums. “So, do you wanna watch a movie tonight? I’m thinking we could start Harry Potter again. We still have three days together so we could probably finish them all.”

Bucky frowns. He had wanted to just get it out there, and admit right when he came through the door, but he thinks maybe a movie could be a good thing. If two more hours isn’t enough for Bucky to get his thoughts together than he’ll never be ready.

So, they start watching the movie while the first batch of cookies is in the oven. They sit on Steve’s small couch, shoulder to shoulder and share the old blanket that’s always sitting on the back of the couch. Bucky barely pays any attention to what’s going on in the movie and instead his mind keeps floating to how he’s going to say everything. His hands are sweaty under the blanket and his stomach flipping anxiously every time that Steve has to pause the movie so he can check the cookies.

Most of the nervousness melts away, though, by the time they’ve gotten to the climax of the movie. Bucky watches intently, occasionally leaning forward to get a warm cookie from the plate on the coffee table. When the movie finishes, Steve twists so that he’s leaning against the arm of the couch, and Bucky does the same so they can talk for a bit.

Bucky knows he has to say something soon, but he lets Steve go on about a memory he has of seeing the movie in theaters with his family. Bucky tries his hardest to listen and to not think about what he’s going to say. It’s surprisingly easy, too, with the way their conversations move along so easily, gradually delving deeper and deeper like they always do when it’s late at night between the two of them.

“Do you remember that asshole that cheated off you in government?” Steve says, laughing at the memory. “What was his name again?”

“Gabe,” Bucky reminds him, smiling softly.

“You only let him cheat off you because you thought he was hot.”

Bucky shrugs. “He had great hair.”

“You could’ve done better than him,” Steve says seriously, looking directly at Bucky.

Bucky looks down, to his sweaty hands in his lap, and mutters a thank you. There’s a lull in the conversation and Bucky knows this is his moment. All he has to do is open his mouth and finally tell Steve everything. Despite years of trying to hide it so feverishly, all Bucky wants to do is say something now. He can’t get the words out of his mouth, though, and instead sits in a panic.

Before he can even summon the courage to breach the conversation, Steve goes, “Can I tell you something?”

And if Bucky was feeling sick before, he definitely is now. Steve doesn’t ever start any conversations like that unless he’s about to spill a secret. They rarely keep secrets from each other, though.

Bucky nods, still not able to get anything out of his mouth.

“For a while I’ve been thinking, I mean, it’s been more than a while,” Steve says, laughing awkwardly. His whole face is red and he won’t even look at Bucky. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m nervous. I just – “

“It’s okay,” Bucky tells him even if he feels just as nervous as Steve.

Steve smiles softly at him before looking away again. “It’s stupid for me to be nervous, is all. I never really thought it would this hard, though,” Steve rambles on, running a shaky hand through his hair. “God, I’m sorry. When you did it, it didn’t seem this bad.”

Bucky stares at Steve’s face with confusion. “When _I_ did it?” he echoes.

There’s a long pause before Steve continues. “In ninth grade. When you came out to me,” he says, eyes finally coming up to meet Bucky’s.

“Steve,” Bucky says slowly. “What are you saying?”

“I’m not gay,” Steve scrambles to say. “I don’t think I’m straight either, though. I mean, I know I’m not. I have known. For a while actually.”

Bucky nods stupidly. He thinks of the other day, when he tripped while jogging, and how he didn’t even realize what had happened until he was sprawled on the ground. He thinks maybe that’s how he feels now.

“I wanted to tell you but I wasn’t sure about it all and I didn’t wanna make things weird. Plus, I felt like an idiot because it took me this long to figure it out. But then a couple weeks ago I randomly met this guy and we ended up, _you know_. And now I feel like I definitely know that I’m bisexual.”

Bucky feels like’s getting so much new information at once that he can’t even keep up. Steve’s bisexual? Steve thought it would make things weird between them? Steve’s slept with another guy?

“Wow,” Bucky says thoughtfully. Then it hits him that’s he not exactly being that supportive with all his gaping. “Shit, Steve, that’s great. I’m happy for you.”

Steve looks genuinely surprised. “Yeah?” he asks, eyes wide.

“Definitely,” Bucky says. “I can’t believe I never noticed or anything. But I’m happy you know now, and it doesn’t matter how long it took for you to realize.”

Steve gives him a toothy grin as he lets go of a big breath of air. Bucky remembers that feeling when he came out, and then he remembers the way Steve had pulled him into a hug. Bucky figures it’s only fair he returns the favor.

“Come here,” he murmurs, already sitting up so he can lean forward and wrap his arms around Steve. His arms are just as tight around Bucky as his own and Steve laughs into his neck. They stay that way for a few minutes, Bucky closing his eyes tightly.

When Steve pulls back, though, he’s smiling brightly when he says, “I wanna tell everyone, but not until the bet is over. So, they don’t think anything.”

Bucky nods, hoping he doesn’t look as disappointed and gutted as he feels.

He knows now that he can’t ever tell Steve about his crush.


	6. DAY FIVE

The grocery store a few blocks from Steve’s apartment is surprisingly busy for a Friday morning.

Steve is intently staring down to his phone, going over the list of things they’re supposed to be buying for tonight. Bucky, deciding that he’s probably more help just steering the car and making sure Steve doesn’t run into anyone, lags behind.

“Do you have any paprika at your apartment?” Steve asks, now plucking random spices from the shelves to look at the packaging.

Bucky snorts. “Probably not.”

They’re having a dinner party tonight after Tony had decided they needed to have one “to celebrate their new love”. It didn’t help that he also made sure that everyone’s schedules would be clear for it and had handed over some money for the groceries. Besides not looking forward to the running commentary about Bucky and Steve’s relationship, Bucky’s not sure how they’re going to fit everyone in Steve’s tiny apartment or cook everything in time. Bucky’s mostly just looking forward for it to be over, the dinner party and the bet.

“I’m never going to use these again,” Steve says, depositing the paprika into the cart. “And Tony expects us to be able to pay for all of this with fifty dollars.”

“Just make them a shitty meal,” Bucky offers. “Not like they’re really expecting a luxury meal from the two of us.”

Steve looks insulted. “Don’t say that,” he says. “We’re going to cook them a great meal.”

Bucky smiles at him and follows him down the aisle. Steve has spent all morning freaking out about the party, scrolling through hundreds of recipes on his phone and writing up elaborate lists of ingredients. The party doesn’t feel as important to Bucky, but he tries to actively help out for Steve’s sake. They could probably get away with buying takeout for everyone, but Steve already vetoed that idea.

They stroll down the aisles, Steve occasionally grabbing for the things, making Bucky come to a halt so that he can inspect the label thoroughly before deciding he doesn’t need it. Bucky leans into the cart and tries not to make it obvious how he’s staring at Steve. He’s been in a good mood all morning, though, smiling widely at Bucky for no reason and teasing him with that fond look in his eyes.

Bucky wants to be happy for him, too, and part of him is. He just can’t stop thinking about how he was supposed to tell Steve finally. He was practically there, one second from spitting out his most precious secret. Bucky wonders if Steve would’ve even come out to him if Bucky would’ve said his secret first. He mostly doubts it.

Either way, Bucky knows he can’t tell him now. If Steve felt the same way, he would’ve told Bucky last night. Knowing that Steve is into guys and is still not into Bucky hurts more than when Bucky was agonizing over the fact that Steve was straight.

Bucky resolutely decides that once the week is up, his game plan is to try to find someone else. Even if he needs to settle for a bit, it’ll be better than being single and desperately trying to hide a crush.

“Hey, should we get, like, party hats or something?” Steve asks from beside him.

Bucky draws up an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. “Like on New Years?”

“Yeah, kind of.”

“Definitely not.”

Steve grins and goes back to scrolling through his list, the hint of a blush on his face. “Tony said he’d bring over one of his board games. And the booze.”

Bucky nods as he checks the time on his phone. “Shit,” he mutters. “I gotta get to work. You’re good to take this all home, though, right?”

“Probably,” Steve says. “But if I get mugged with fifty dollars worth of groceries it’s all your fault.”

“Mm, I’ll be sure to tell my boss that.”

As Bucky is walking away, Steve frantically waves and yells after him, “Bye, honey! Have a good day at work!”

Bucky rolls his eyes and goes, “Don’t burn down the apartment.”

The walk to the restaurant is short but the weather outside is dipping below freezing and Bucky’s only in his thin, leather jacket. When he jabs his hands into pockets, though, he realizes the hat that Steve had slipped on his head before their date is still there. He puts it on, smiling to himself.

His shift isn’t particularly bad. Besides the missing tip from an elderly couple and nearly dropping a whole tray of drinks, it could even be considered halfway decent. It keeps him in good spirits on his walk to the subway station, Steve’s hat back on his head.

When he gets back to the apartment, there isn’t smoke coming from their door, so Bucky takes it that Steve didn’t manage to burn down the apartment just yet. He slips in, trying to be quiet to maybe scare Steve again, but when he walks into the kitchen, Steve is rushing around like a chicken with its head cut off.

“Shit, _shit_ ,” Steve is hissing, holding his finger. There’s a cutting board in front of him, stalks of celery lying abandoned as Steve curses and frantically moves to the sink.

Bucky rushes over to him. “What happened?”

Steve looks surprised when he sees Bucky, but he doesn’t get startled this time, only blocks Bucky’s vision with his shoulder, so he can’t see what’s happened to his hand. “It’s nothing,” Steve tells him, voice high.

“Let me see,” Bucky demands, grabbing Steve’s shoulder and hauling him around.

Steve’s cradling his left hand with his right, his index finger dripping with blood from a painful-looking wound.

“Jesus, Steve,” Bucky says. “I was only gone for a few hours.”

“ _Funny_ ,” Steve deadpans.

“Come on,” Bucky tells him, gripping Steve’s forearm and dragging him to the bathroom.

Bucky runs Steve’s hand under the tap and then sits Steve down on the toilet and gets on his knees to go through the bottom of the sink for the first aid kit. He hasn’t needed it in a while (not since that time Steve got into a fight while drunk over a pair of big guys who were chatting up a couple of clearly uninterested blondes).

“It’s not that deep,” Bucky says, inspecting the wound when Steve moves the wad of toilet paper that’s gone deep red with blood. “I don’t think you’ll need stitches.”

“Better not,” Steve says, smiling, “because we’ve got a dinner party to host in an hour.”

Bucky smirks and dabs Neosporin on the cut, making Steve wince slightly. “Feel like we’re kids again,” he mumbles as he puts on the Band-Aid. He almost wants to jokingly ask if Steve wants him to kiss it better, and hope he says yes so that he can lean forward and place his lips against Steve’s soft hand. That’s out of the question, even for pretend husbands, though.

“Hey, I remember cleaning _you_ up a few times too.”

“Yeah, but only because I had to save your ass every time.”

“I just don’t like – “

“ _Bullies_ , yeah, yeah,” Bucky says. “I know. Sometimes the smarter thing to do is to walk away, though.”

Steve smiles at him. “Yeah, but what fun would that be?”

“I do have a great right hook now,” Bucky murmurs. He holds out his hand to Steve so that he can haul him up and guide them back to the kitchen. Bucky takes a look around, and goes, “So, I’m going to finish chopping things up. You deal with whatever is on the stove.”

Steve nods and Bucky gets out a fresh knife and cutting board when he discovers Steve’s blood dotted on the one he was using before. They work together as a team to get the meal ready, easily and efficiently threading around each other and making small talk as they pour over recipes and set things out on the table and counters.

Before the first guests arrive, Steve and Bucky head into the bedroom to get changed, Steve in a pair of old sweatpants and Bucky still in his work clothes.

“What do people wear to dinner parties?” Steve says, dragging his hands through his hung up shirts.

“Dressy?” Bucky asks.

Steve quirks an eyebrow. “Semi-dressy?”

“I think you’re thinking of semi-casual,” Bucky tells him, laughing.

“So, probably something with a collar?”

“Probably.”

In the end, Steve goes with a casual button up and a pair of dark-wash jeans. He fixes his hair in the mirror as Bucky steals one of his button-ups and throws a sweater over it, keeping on his black skinny jeans from work. They head to the bathroom to look their outfits over in the longest mirror in the apartment. Standing next to each other, Bucky takes them in. He can’t even help the way his lips curl into a smile.

“We look good together,” Steve says, practically reading his mind, and smiles brightly at him before throwing an arm around Bucky’s shoulder. “Mr. and Mr. Rogers.”

“Why not Barnes?” Bucky asks, a little insulted.

Without hesitation, Steve leans in and kisses the side of Bucky’s face dramatically, lips smacking wetly. “We both know you’d take my name,” he says into the mirror at Bucky’s reflection.

Bucky wants to say something back, so they can keep joking and smiling, but then there is a knock on the door. They exchange a look in the mirror and then rush to the door. Before opening it, Steve locks their arms together and then opens the door with a big smile on his face.

Unsurprisingly, the first guest is Tony. When he sees the two of them together, he smiles coyly. “So, did you already buy the rings?” he asks.

“Still fake husbands,” Bucky reminds him.

“But the best fake husbands there ever was,” Steve reminds him. Bucky tries not to look too happy about the way he says it. “Now, come in.”

The rests of the guests filter in within the next ten minutes, Steve each time hauling Bucky with him to the door so that they can greet whoever it is. Sam breaks into laughter the second he sees them and Natasha pretends to look disgusted “by how domestic you two look” and Bruce smiles kindly, albeit a little weirded out. Clint looks between them excited, practically duped by how much of a couple they look, but Steve has to remind him that they’re not, and when Thor arrives, booming voice and all, he pushes the two of them together for a group hug.

Everyone is talking loudly, the music Steve put on (from the playlist he had meticulously put together for at least an hour) forgotten all about. Steve and Bucky rush around the kitchen, making sure all the food is prepared right as Natasha teases Bucky about how whipped he is when Steve makes him hold the strainer so he can poor noodles into it.

“Very original,” Bucky tells her.

“It’s true, though,” Steve chimes in, looking proud of the fact. “You should see how often he makes me breakfast.”

Bucky has to physically try not to blush. He has no luck.

“You never cook _me_ breakfast,” Natasha wines.

Bucky places his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I only do for my husband.”

“You two are disgusting,”

Bucky smiles, but when he sees the way Natasha is looking at them, clearly questioning and examining their relationship, he realizes she probably thinks that Bucky’s spilled his heart to Steve and that they are actually in some torrid romance now. She couldn’t be more wrong.

There’s no time to pull her aside, and Bucky knows that a meaningful nod won’t be enough to explain what happened, so he lets her watch the two of them make finishing touches on the meal before they announce it’s time to eat. Tony pulls out a bottle of champagne and Steve pours everyone their own plastic cup of it.

“I want to make a toast,” Tony says, holding his cup up proudly. “To our lovely hosts. I’ve known them for a truly unfortunate amount of time, but in that time I’ve found good friends. They’re young, they’re happy, and although they don’t know it yet, they’re in love.” Everyone laughs, and Steve and Bucky look to each other. Steve gives him a sideways smile and it makes Bucky’s heart beat too fast. “So, to the happy couple,” Tony finishes, holding his glass higher.

Everyone raises their glasses with him and in a flurry of noise, they all clink their cups together. Bucky and Steve catch each other’s eyes again as they take a sip, smiling at each other over the rims of their cups. Bucky should feel guilty, for his feelings for Steve, and for never telling him, and for letting this spiral so out of control, but all he feels in that moment is happiness. Impulsively, he throws an arm around Steve’s shoulders and smacks a wet kiss on his cheek, prompting the room to burst out into more shouts.

“I think the couple should kiss,” Tony says, smirking dangerously at the two of them.

Bucky knows this is some sort of ploy that he thinks will make them miraculously realize their feelings for each other, and Bucky is about to shoot him down, but then the room erupts in chanted, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

He looks to Steve, ready to roll his eyes and push him away, but then Steve is giving him _this look_. His eyebrow is raised, and his head cocked, and it’s clearly saying, “Why not?”

Bucky can think of a million reasons why not.

Everyone is still chanting at them, but Bucky is frozen, mouth parted in surprise, not sure how to even shake Steve away. Steve carefully puts a hand on Bucky’s jaw and smiles slightly before leaning in and kissing Bucky.

Bucky’s imagined their first kiss before. He’s always imagined half-drunk curiosity, or chaste kisses after heartfelt conversations, but this wasn’t something he’s ever thought of. He didn’t think he’d have Steve kissing him, lips soft and gentle on his, fingers curling around the back of his neck as he stepped closer. Bucky doesn’t even kiss back for a few seconds and stays painfully frozen until his brain turns back online.

When Steve pulls back, everyone shouting loudly, Bucky stares back at him, eyes wide and face flushed. Steve, though, licks his lips and stares back at Bucky with his forehead creased in confusion and eyes unreadable. Bucky’s never felt more vulnerable. The only thing he can think is that Steve’s figured it out. He has to know all about his crush.

The look on his face slips off, though, when he looks away, being replaced by a big smile as he holds Bucky closer. Bucky forces himself to smile, too, even if he’s sure that it’s not just Steve that knows now too, but probably everyone in the room.


	7. DAY SIX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long. 
> 
> warning for smut at the end of the chapter. if you want to ignore it, just stop reading when they get to the apartment. (don't worry, nothing major happens in it!!)

Bucky is staring at the flower stand next door to the usual coffee spot when Natasha sneaks up on him and whispers, “He likes roses,” into his ear.

Startled, but not entirely surprised to find Natasha standing behind him with a smirk on her face, Bucky scoffs. “I’m not buying him flowers,” he assures her.

They were supposed to get together for coffee but Sam cancelled, and then Natasha ended up being late, and Bucky had drank his entire black coffee before she showed up. He had meant to just leave, but he got distracted by the flower stand outside. His eyes had scanned the rows of colorful bundles and daydreamed about Steve kissing him last night. He hadn’t actually realized how long he’d been there until Natasha had scared him.

“Really?” Natasha asks, clearly amused by his answer, “because I was watching you stare at these for like, ten, minutes, Barnes.”

“Not _ten_ minutes.” More like five.

It’s Natasha’s turn to scoff. “Why not get him some? Now that you two are in love and – “

“He’s not,” Bucky interrupts, already dreading this conversation.

She squints at him. “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t tell him.”

There’s a long silence, and Bucky hangs his head and looks to the dirty Manhattan sidewalk. He feels stupid and childish, especially knowing that Natasha thought for a whole night that they were in love with each other and happy finally. They must have played their roles too well.

When Bucky looks up, sure he’s about to be smacked in the head or scolded, Natasha is just looking at him with worry on her face. She even looks concerned, which only embarrasses Bucky. Because, _whatever_ , Steve doesn’t love him. He’ll be fine.

“Come on,” Natasha says softly, dragging him back into the café by his arm.

She orders a coffee and buys a chocolate muffin that she breaks in half and shoves the second half towards Bucky. He doesn’t eat it, but he doesn’t reject it, only stares.

“What happened?” Natasha finally asks softly.

Bucky doesn’t look up when he says, “I couldn’t do it.”

“Why not? You were so ready to and then…” she trails on, hoping Bucky will clear things up.

He doesn’t, though, because he knows he can’t tell her what Steve told him. It’s not his secret to tell. “It’s complicated,” he mutters. “I just can’t, okay? Not anymore. Not after he told me something. I’m just going to meet someone new, and I’ll get over my crush, and I’ll – “

“ _Jesus_ , Barnes,” Natasha interrupts.

Bucky looks up, angry and sad at the same time. “He doesn’t want me,” Bucky chokes out.

“What about the kiss? He didn’t exactly seem hard-pressed to kiss you?” Natasha points out.

As much as Bucky wants to remember every bit of the kiss, like the way Steve’s lips felt on his, and the way his soft hands rubbed the back of his neck gently, he knows he needed to forget it. Steve hasn’t said anything about it since it happened. Before bed last night, they hadn’t even talked for a bit (like they’ve done every other night), and only murmured goodnights before turning off the lights and rolling away from each other. It felt like the clearest form of rejection.

“You should’ve seen how he looked at me after that,” Bucky says, cringing to himself at the memory of Steve’s face. “Could practically see how he was already coming up with ideas to put me down softly.”

Natasha scoffs. “You’re so dramatic,” she tells him. With an annoyed look on her face, she leans forward in her chair. “Look, I didn’t want to be the one to say anything, but he’s obviously into you, too. I know you’re busy with your whole unrequited love shit, but I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

Bucky almost wants to laugh when he hears this. “And how does he look at me?”

“The same way you look at him.”

Bucky _does_ laugh when he hears this.

“I’m not kidding,” Natasha says seriously.

Biting his lip, Bucky stares at Natasha’s face. He can’t believe her. Natasha just wants for them to get together so she’ll feel like a good matchmaker. She doesn’t know about the way Steve looked at him, or about his coming out. She doesn’t know all the facts, and therefor isn’t a reliable source.

“I just don’t want to talk about it.”

Natasha sighs. “Why not?”

“Because…Because I have my date tonight and I don’t want it getting fucked up by your nonsense.”

She perks up at this. “Your date is tonight? And you’re not buying him flowers?”

“ _Natasha_.”

Standing up, Natasha collects her purse and coffee cup, and before turning away, looks to Bucky and says, “I’m serious, you need to tell him. And buy him the roses – He’s a sap for that kind of romantic bullshit.”

With that, she leaves.

***

Bucky feels incredibly stupid when he gets to Steve’s apartment with his bundle of flowers.

He did _not_ buy them because of Natasha’s suggestion but because he had thought of it first. The fact that they are roses might have been partly because of her suggestion, but it’s not like Bucky didn’t know that Steve would be the type of person to think of roses as the cheesiest of romances.

Either way, he feels a little embarrassed walking into the apartment clutching them close to his chest, like maybe he went a little too far. But he figures if Steve can kiss him, Bucky is allowed to bring him flowers before they go on a date.

Bucky finds Steve’s bedroom door closed and he tentatively knocks on it. “Steve?”

“Gimme a minute,” he yells from inside.

Bucky paces the living room waiting for him to come out, opting to keeps his coat on since they’re about to leave. It only makes him sick with how hot he feels from the nerves, though.

He had stopped at his apartment before coming over so he could change into a decent outfit, leaving the flowers on his kitchen counter. He hadn’t expected it, but his apartment felt lonelier than he had remembered. Before, the emptiness of it had always made him a little distressed, but now after spending the week with Steve, the last thing Bucky wanted was to have to go back to sleeping alone every night.

Bucky’s taken by surprise when the door to Steve’s bedroom opens and out he walks. He’s dressed in a bright red button-up that’s tucked neatly into a pair of black pants. When Bucky first looks at him, he can’t help but forget everything he was thinking and break out into a smile and go, “You look good. _Great_ , really.”

“Flowers?” Steve asks, smiling softly at the bundle still in Bucky’s tight grip.

“Oh, right,” Bucky says, awkwardly holding it out for Steve. “Got these for you.”

Steve takes them from him, staring down at the flowers with a wide smile on his face. He looks back up to Bucky, though, seeming genuinely moved by the gesture. And, god, Natasha was right, he does love these kinds of things. Bucky watches as he finds a tall glass to put them in, looking behind his shoulder to smile at Bucky as he runs it under the tap.

“So, you excited?” Bucky asks. He’s still nervous and a little confirmation wouldn’t hurt any.

“Obviously!” Steve exclaims. “Still very interested to see what you have planned.”

Bucky smirks at him, wanting to keep it secret until they get there.

“I just need to get on my tie, then we can leave,” Steve says, walking back to his bedroom and coming back out with a skinny black tie. Before Steve can argue, Bucky snags the tie from him and starts to do it himself.

Steve stands completely still as Bucky does his tie, hands carefully sliding the knot up so it’s snug against Steve’s neck and straightens it up. When Bucky looks up, an accomplished smile on his face, he finds Steve looking at him with an expression of concentration. They stand like that for a few seconds, looking into each other’s eyes, Bucky frozen with his hand still on Steve’s tie.

When Steve starts to lean in slowly, eyes flickering down to Bucky’s mouth, Bucky grips the tie tighter, practically dragging him closer. At the last moment, though, Steve’s turns his head and kisses his cheek. When he pulls back, face flushed, he goes, “Thanks for the flowers.”

Bucky’s not sure what to say, or even what to do, but his body works on automatic, letting go of the tie and nodding a few too many times before going, “We should leave. We’ve got reservations.”

***

They take the subway to the restaurant, a small place that Bucky had been to on several times with his family for birthdays or special occasions. He thought Steve would like it for it’s classic, timeless feel. They have to take the elevator up to one of the top floors to get to it, but at night, New York City twinkles out the bay windows.

Bucky spent the entire ride there trying to make small talk with Steve without giving away how nervous he was, and it only gets worse when they get seated right next to the glass (a spot that was not coincidental). Steve barely notices, though, because he’s busy leaning into the glass and going, “Jesus, Buck, can see the Empire State Building from here.”

It makes the pained feeling in Bucky’s chest stop aching so much, and he relaxes into his chair. It’s easier after that. Bucky orders a bottle of wine and they clink their glasses, smiling widely at each other before trying it.

“Pretty good,” Steve hums. “I mean, it could never be as good the twelve dollar stuff you got the other night, but it’s not bad.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “It’s also nice to have real wine glasses for once.”

Steve pulls out his phone from his pocket and aims the camera at Bucky. “Smile,” he says, already jabbing at the screen.

Bucky does his best, but mostly ends up blushing and looking down to the table. “You sending those to Tony?” he asks.

Looking up from his phone, Steve blinks a few times and then nods, face going red. “Uh, yeah.”

With everything Natasha told Bucky still in his head, he wants to exaggerate Steve’s actions, like when he takes his photo, or the way he keeps leaning forward and putting his hand on Bucky’s arm, smiling so sweetly and warmly. Even the things he says makes Bucky think twice about their relationship, but Bucky has to force himself from dwelling over it all.

It’s a fake date.

They’re pretending to be married for a bet.

And maybe Bucky doesn’t want to remember that, but he has to if he wants to stay sane.

When they finish their meal, Steve tries paying for the meal because that’s just the kind of guy he is. Bucky assures him he’s paying with the fifty Tony gave him, and then slides his card to the waiter. He’s keeping the fifty and giving it Steve at the end of the week, or at least plans to slip it into his wallet when Steve refuses to take it.

Outside the restaurant, Steve throws an arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “You’re a pretty good date,” he mutters into Bucky’s ear.

Bucky can practically hear the smile in his voice. “It’s not over yet,” he assures him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They walk a few blocks, Steve’s arm still wrapped around Bucky, and dodge all the tourists taking photos of skyscrapers or staring at maps on their phones. Bucky keeps peaking over at Steve’s face, because he’s almost positive that Steve knows where they’re going, but his expression doesn’t give anything away.

When they can finally start to see the building, Steve turns to Bucky with a shocked look on his face, eyes lighting up. He nearly shoves Bucky away when he exclaims, “You brought me to the Met?”

“Guilty,” Bucky says nervously.

Steve breaks into a wide smile. “You’re disgustingly cute sometimes, you know that?”

Bucky tries not to take it too seriously, but he instantly beams at the comment. “Only sometimes?” he ribs.

“Don’t let your ego get too inflated.”

It’s Saturday night, so of course there is a long line once they walk up the steps. Bucky had bought tickets online before, though, to make sure they wouldn’t spend half the night outside in line, so he makes a beeline for the considerably shorter line, which only makes Steve give him an impressed face.

After getting their tickets and checking their coats, Steve is paging through a map of the galleries, pointing with excitement at things they have.

“They have an exhibit on the Hellenistic World, Buck,” Steve gushes, pushing the paper into his face for emphasis.

Bucky smiles proudly, looking to Steve’s face as he keeps reading with an intense look on his face. It’s not that Bucky had been particularly worried that Steve would hate going to Met, but he had worried that maybe he wouldn’t think it was that great of an idea. They’ve lived in the city their entire lives, and have found their way to the museum on school field trips and weekends with their families since they were kids. Bucky knew it wouldn’t be anything new or exciting, but he did know Steve loved art and the Met.

Now, though, with Steve still gabbing about everything he wants to see, nearly stumbling into the family in front of them as he reads the guide, Bucky feels relieved. He puts a hand on the small of Steve’s back, gently guiding him into one of the first rooms. When Steve realized there are paintings in front of him, he looks up with a gentle, “ _Oh_.”

The make their way through the galleries, Steve sometimes pausing for minutes, arms crossed over his chest as he stares into the art with a concentrated look on his face. Other times, he’ll give it a fleeting look and pass right by it without even giving it a second glance. He talks to Bucky intermittently about the pieces, using abstract hand gestures to make his point where his words can’t.

Mostly, Bucky nods his head and smiles when Steve smiles. He doesn’t know much about art, and probably doesn’t appreciate half as much as he should (or a third of how much Steve does), but he finds himself only briefly looking at the art and then moving his eyes so that he’s staring at Steve. His passion for it all shows on his face, and he keeps cocking his head to the side, mouth parting slightly as he takes in each new piece of art. It’s practically mesmerizing. And maybe he should be less obvious about the way he watches Steve, but if they’re going to have an imaginary date, then Bucky’s going to do what he wants for once. Plus, the two glasses of wine he drank at dinner makes him feel a little more comfortable with himself.

It only gets worse, though, when they are slowly working their way through a particularly dimly lit room that’s full of people, Steve reaches out and grasps onto Bucky’s hand, their fingers easily entwining. Bucky blinks a few time at their hands, feeling Steve’s light pull as he makes his way through the crowd ahead of Bucky, then looks up to Steve’s face, the hint of a smile on his lips.

Bucky wants to just relax and enjoy it, but with everything Natasha said and the ways Steve’s been acting all night, he feels like he’s going crazy. He keeps having to tell himself it’s a fake date and that Steve doesn’t feel the same way. He can’t help exaggerating every gesture, though, and as they hold hands through the museum, Bucky starts to feel guilty.

When they leave, Steve still holding his hands as they walk outside and down the steps at the entrance, Bucky awkwardly lets go of his hand and tries to breathe evenly. He knows he has to tell Steve, and the only reasonable thing to do is wait until they get back to Steve’s apartment. The words feel like they’re crawling up Bucky’s throat, though, and all he knows is that he _needs_ to tell Steve.

“Steve,” Bucky starts, feeling faint.

He looks over, face concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to tell you something, and I just – I don’t know how but – “ Bucky feels like he’s one word from crying because he’s only now realizing how stupid he’s been not telling Steve. It feels like an avalanche now, that he can’t control.

Bucky’s trying to say what he’s wanted to all night, but he can’t. Steve must realize this, though, because he gives him a long look before grabbing at Bucky’s collar and kissing him. Bucky’s frozen for a few horrifying seconds, whole body rigid and scared, but one of Steve’s hands slips down so his palm is flat against Bucky’s chest, and it kicks him into motion because _Steve is kissing him_. It’s not a stupid dare and hopefully not part of an even stupider bet. It’s just him, and something burns wildly in Bucky’s chest at the thought.

It’s possibly a bit ridiculous, the two of them kissing outside of the Met even if Bucky’s not even poured his heart out to Steve yet. He hopes he can somehow convey how he feels with the way he kisses Steve, that he can somehow let him know everything he’s been feeling for years.

When they break apart, Bucky not sure what to expect. He’s surprised to see a bright smile on Steve’s face instead of the calculating, confused one like the other night. Now, he’s laughing a little before he wraps his arms around Bucky and burrows his face into his neck.

“You don’t hate me, right?” Steve asks, voice muffled.

Bucky nearly chokes. “ _What_?”

Steve pulls back, dropping his arms to his sides. He even seems nervous when he looks up to Bucky’s face. “I really wanted to kiss you,” Steve says, “and I don’t want for you to hate me for that.”

It doesn’t even sound real when he says it, and Bucky can barely comprehend the logic behind Steve thinking that Bucky could ever hate him for that. He’s about to open his mouth and tell him that, but he decides it’s easier to just lean in and kiss Steve again because, _god_ , he really wants to kiss Steve again.

“I wanted to kiss you too,” Bucky tells Steve when they pull apart, and then they’re both smiling at each other.

“Good.”

Bucky looks around, realizing that there are still other people around besides Steve. “We should probably get out of here,” Bucky tells Steve, and he nods in agreement.

They don’t say anything on the walk to the subway, but Bucky keeps thinking of things he wants to say, or things he thinks he should say, but he’s okay with the way they exchange words with the way their hands keeping brushing as they walk, or the look on Steve’s face when they turn to look at each other. They say nothing, but it feels like Steve is talking when he carelessly places his hand on Bucky’s thigh on the subway ride to the apartment.

When they get back, Steve locks the door and then leans against it, eyes looking up to Bucky with intensity. His face is all red from the cold, blond hair windswept and lips wet. Bucky can’t help but to stare for a few seconds, before he mutters out, “You look so beautiful.” He wants to be embarrassed by saying it out loud, but he can’t be because he wants Steve to know.

Steve smiles at him softly, head cocked a little, like an invitation. It’s all Bucky needs to take the few steps necessary to pull Steve close and kiss him again. Steve’s hands are instantly all over him, sliding down his chest and then pulling up his shirt from where it’s tucked into his pants so he can stick his cold hands underneath and lay flat palms on the flushed skin of Bucky’s torso. It makes Bucky shiver and lean his forehead against Steve’s, their hot breath mixing as Steve slowly starts to unbutton Bucky’s shirt.

“Steve,” Bucky whispers, unsure of himself. “Are we really going to do this?”

Steve’s hands pause for a moment, already halfway up the shirt. “If you want to.”

Bucky almost laughs. He’s not going to tell Steve that he’s only been fantasizing about this since high school and that he wants this more than anything at the moment, but part of him is worried to nod his head. There’s a very visible line they’re about to cross if he does, and Bucky isn’t sure where that’s going to leave them when they do cross it.

Bucky wishes maybe he was a little bit more clear-headed, and not already half-hard, Steve’s fingers brushing against his chest and lips only centimeters away.

“Yeah, I want that,” Bucky finally says, surging forward to kiss Steve’s lips again.

Steve’s fingers go back to unbuttoning Bucky’s shirt, and Bucky leans down, so his lips are on Steve’s neck, kissing hickeys onto his skin. Steve undoes Bucky’s tie and Bucky leans back so he can pull it off and then push his shirt off his shoulders so it’s falling to the ground. Before Bucky even realizes what’s happening, Steve twirls them around so that Bucky is against the door now, mouth open in surprise by the move. Bucky would laugh, but Steve sinks to his knees then, eyes wide when he looks up Bucky with his hands on the button of Bucky’s pants.

“Can I?” he asks, voice low and wrecked.

Bucky just blinks at him for a few moments before he finally chokes out, “Shit, _yeah_.”

There’s a flicker of a smile on Steve’s face as he works on undoing Bucky’s pants, hands slow and teasing as he does it. His eyes keep flickering up, like he wants to see everything on Bucky’s face. He pulls his pants down to his knees and then cups his hard-on with light, feathery fingers. And, _jesus_ , he even licks his lips before he leans in and puts his mouth on him through his briefs. Bucky can’t help the whiney sound that falls out of his mouth. He almost can’t actually believe that Steve is really there on his knees in front of him.

Steve slowly pulls his briefs down, a small smile on his face as he does it. Bucky feels nervous, but too turned onto even really care about it at this point. Right before he leans forward, Steve looks up to Bucky again, teeth biting into his lower lip. Bucky’s about to beg for it, but Steve doesn’t make him, only leans forward, hot mouth suddenly on him.

Bucky’s hand unconsciously finds its way into Steve’s hair, curling softly. Steve’s got the tip of his dick in his mouth, sucking lightly, making Bucky feel a little crazy. When Steve moans with his mouth partway around him, his hand gripping the base, Bucky’s fingers tighten in his hair and he has to force his hips from pushing forward into Steve’s mouth. He barely even realizes Steve’s holding him back anyways, his free hand on Bucky’s waist, grip suddenly tight.

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky breathes out. “So good.”

Steve must takes this encouragement to heart because he suddenly he’s bobbing forward, swallowing Bucky down with a fervent passion. Bucky moans again, head falling back against the door and his eyes closing shut. He takes in how good Steve feels around him, mouth hot and wet, tongue moving in all the right ways. It’s easy to forget that Steve said he’s only been with one guy before this.

Bucky keeps trying to buck his hips forward, and Steve’s grip is getting lighter and lighter, allowing for the sharp juts forward. Just when he thinks he needs to apologize, Steve moans on him again, vibrations making Bucky groan along with him.

“I’m close,” Bucky huffs out in warning.

Steve doesn’t pull away like Bucky expects him to, but instead works harder. It’s only a few seconds more until Bucky is nearly pulling on Steve’s hair when he comes, eyes shut tightly as pleasure rolls over him. When he comes down, breath heavy, he realizes Steve must’ve swallowed him down and is now tentatively touching him.

“Holy shit, Steve, that was…” Bucky trails on, not even sure how to find the right words.

He can’t take it anymore so just as Steve is getting Bucky’s pants back in place, he pulls him up and kisses him, tasting himself in his mouth, salty and raw. Steve’s tongue is hot in his mouth, and Bucky wants to feel Steve’s chest against his so he starts to work on his shirt as they make out. His fingers work quickly, even if they feel a little shaky and like they aren’t his as he undoes the buttons and loosens his tie. When he finally gets him out of it, their chests hot against each other, Bucky touches Steve through his pants, squeezing the hard line of his dick until Steve is groaning into their kisses.

“ _Please_ ,” Steve begs roughly.

Bucky doesn’t need to be asked twice, so he unzips his pants and gets him into his hand. Steve tucks his head into Bucky’s neck as he jerks him off, thumb grazing over the tip to collect the precome. Bucky can feel his ragged breathing against his skin and when he comes he chokes on a moan, body tensing as his hand grips Bucky’s hip tightly.

They both lean against each other, Steve still breathing heavily. Bucky kisses the top of his head just because he can and closes his eyes to listen to Steve’s breaths. After a moment, Steve pulls away and goes, “I can’t believe we didn’t even make it to the bedroom.”

Bucky breaks into laughter, and Steve does too, the two of them warmly grinning at each other.

“There’s still time,” Bucky tells him.


	8. DAY SEVEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh it's over! 
> 
> So, sorry it took so long for this to be posted, but it's here now. I want to thank everyone for reading, leaving me kudos, and commenting. It really means a lot to me. :")

 

Bucky still remembers the first time he realized he really was in love with Steve.

It was their freshman year of high school. Bucky had come out to Steve a few months prior and was still riding off the happiness of knowing that Steve didn’t hate him or thought he was always secretly checking him out. Everything was better than ever after that, really, and their friendship had felt renewed.

The time they spent together had doubled, and it felt like every weekend they were at each other’s houses or riding the subway to random stops and adventuring with no money to their names until they had to get back home for dinner. They spent all of high school inseparable, even having done their schedules in a way to make sure they could share as many classes possible.

The more time Bucky spent with Steve, though, the harder it was to ignore his crush. He _refused_ to be that guy who fell in love with his straight best friend, but he wasn’t sure if he even had a choice in the matter. He barely even noticed it had happened until that one day when the realization hit him.

It hadn’t been anything special, either. It was just one day after school, the two of them huddled on Bucky’s bed, hunched over thick math text books. One of Steve’s playlists was playing, and Bucky loved all the songs he put on his playlists. They sat silently as they worked, but Bucky’s mind was drifting and he had looked over to Steve next to him, chewing on the end of his pencil, forehead creased in confusion.

Bucky had smiled softly, watching the way Steve then cocked his head as he stared at the equation he was working on. Then, though, something in Bucky’s stomach twisted when he thought to himself, “Am I in love with him?”

Bucky had loved Steve his entire life, but now, in that moment, he thought maybe it was more than the love that he had for him since he was only a kid. It was much more than a love shared between two best friends. The realization of it all made Bucky feel a little sick, but all he did was smile even wider.

Steve had looked up just then, catching Bucky’s eye, lips quirked up.

“What?” Steve asked.

Bucky stared blankly back at him, not sure what to say. He paused for a minute before he finally went, “Your hair just looks weird.”

“Huh?” Steve said, self-consciously bringing a hand up to his blond hair.

Leaning over, Bucky ruffled his hair, making it stick up awkwardly and fall into his eyes.

“Hey – _Buck_ ,” Steve whined, smacking away Bucky’s hand before he was doing the same back to Bucky, his brown hair coming undone from the way he had it styled.

They laughed at each other’s messed up hair, not bothering to fix it. Steve leaned back with a satisfied look on his face. “I think you should always have it like that,” he told Bucky.

“Oh, yeah, you too,” Bucky hummed. “Really gives you that rugged look I know you want so bad.”

Steve had grinned back at him before running a hand through his hair and looking back down his homework.

***

When Bucky wakes up, legs tangled in bed sheets and Steve’s chest warm on his back, he almost drifts back to sleep. His mind isn’t all the way awake yet, the who/where/when/why/how’s still a mystery for a few blissful moments. Steve is warm next to him and the comforter is pulled up to both of their chins, the sound of a car alarm wailing softly outside the window. Bucky lets himself drift for a few moments, until something hits him.

He’s in Steve’s bedroom.

The rest of the night falls back on him. Their date, Bucky’s semi-breakdown, their kiss, their…

“Jesus,” Bucky whispers to himself.

Steve isn’t awake, so Bucky carefully slips out of his grip even if it kind of hurts to do it. He wishes he could stay, and try to doze for an hour until he would wake up Steve by kissing him and playing with his hair. He knows he can’t do that, though.

He pulls on some clothes that are thrown next to his suitcase in the corner of the room and then quietly leaves the apartment before Steve can wake up. Part of him feels guilty about it, but the other part of him is still chanting the one thing that Bucky doesn’t want to think about.

It was just sex for Steve.

He’s only just realized he’s into guys, so of course he’s going to sleep around. And Bucky was just an easy lay for him. They were already pretending to be married, so why not sleep with him? It hurts, but he figures that it’s only fitting they slept together. If Tony ever found out, he’d probably fall onto the floor laughing. He won’t, though, because Bucky already knows he needs to cut it off with Steve. Because the only thing worse than being rejected by Steve, is ending up in some friends-with-benefits situation.

Bucky isn’t sure how to do that, though, so he flees the apartment and goes to his own to shower and get ready for work. The apartment in colder than Steve’s, and Bucky thinks about how warm he had been wrapped around him this morning only to shake back into reality by the harshness of his own apartment. It’s the last day of the bet, so Bucky has to get used to this.

Before Bucky heads out for work, his phone lights up with text messages from Steve.

_hey_

_where did you go?_

Bucky clicks his phone locked and decides not to answer them. He needs a few hours to even think about coming up with some sort of reply. He has to find a way to keep their friendship intact, but Bucky mostly thinks that it’s going to end up weird no matter how hard he tries.

Work goes slow even if the restaurant is swamped and the new hostess keeps giving Bucky way too many tables to take care of at the same time. He almost wants to yell at her, just because he keeps thinking too hard about Steve, and how stupid Bucky had been last night, and how great it felt to wake up in his arms.

He wonders how long he could avoid Steve before he was forced to retrieve his suitcase. This thought doesn’t go far, though, because he realizes that everyone is meeting up tonight at Tony’s for the usual game night – postponed for Bucky and Steve’s date. At the very least, Bucky can at least be grateful that by the end of the night he’ll be fifty dollar richer.

When Bucky checks his phone after work he finds three new messages from Steve.

_did I do something?_

_you’re still going to tony’s tonight right?_

_i just remembered you’re at work. sorry._

Bucky feels a little guilty for not just replying before work, but now that’s he’s spent the last six hours on his feet the last thing he wants to do is deal with the mental headache of replying to texts. When he’s on the subway, though, he quickly writes out a text.

_still going tonight. just got out of work and on my way over to your place._

The worst part of it is that before he puts “your place” he writes “home”. It’s not his home, though, because when he gets there he’ll pack up his suitcase and go back to this own apartment. No more making dinner for each other or talking until one of them nods off at night.

Opening the door, Bucky finds the apartment quiet. There is no music playing or the sound of the TV on as Bucky walks to the kitchen and undoes Steve’s key from his key loop. Carefully, he places it down on the counter. He stares at it for a few moments before Steve walks out of his bedroom. He doesn’t seem surprised to see Bucky, and probably heard him get in, but he blinks a few time at the key on the counter.

“Hey,” he says cautiously.

Jesus, since when is Steve ever cautious with Bucky?

Bucky nods at him. “Hey.”

They don’t talk for a few awkward seconds, ones where Steve’s eyes catch on the key again. He clears is throat before going, “You should just keep it. Kinda stupid to have it hanging around. At least I’ll know you’ll keep it safe.”

“You sure?”

Steve gets a look at the evident hesitation in his face and then sighs, shoulders sagging slightly. “We should talk,” he tells Bucky.

It’s the last thing Bucky wants to do, but he knows it’s time. He’s spent years hiding how he feels from Steve, and he knows it’s time to own up to it. Strangely, he doesn’t even feel that nervous anymore. Mostly, he just feels ready to get it off his chest once and for all.

“Yeah,” Bucky says slowly. “Okay.”

Steve nods a few too many times and then awkwardly rocks back and forth, like he’s waiting for someone to start.

Bucky takes his cue. “I guess I’ll go first,” he says. Taking a big breath, Bucky tries to figure out where to start. It’s all been a mess in his head for years. Steve is waiting, though, so Bucky just decides to wing it. “I fucked up last night.”

Steve seems confused by this, eyes squinting in his direction.

“I mean, like,” Bucky stumbles. He takes another big breath before continuing. “I shouldn’t have had sex with you last night because it wasn’t just sex to me. I’ve been in love with you for so long and….I should’ve told you sooner. You were straight and I didn’t want to mess everything up, and this week has been hell but also a dream and I – “

“ _Jesus_ , Buck,” Steve mutters, interrupting him with eyes wide.

Bucky can’t quite tell if it’s a good reaction or not.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky tells him quietly, just to be safe.

“Why are you apologizing?” Steve asks. He doesn’t give him enough time to answer, though, before he keeps going. “I thought you were about to tell me that you didn’t want to be with me because that would’ve really ruined what I was about to say.”

Bucky feels like he can’t breathe.

“ _What_?”

Steve smiles at him. “I might not have realized as soon as you did, but I love you too.”

They both look at each other for a few seconds, and when Bucky breaks into a smile, so does Steve. Bucky feels incredibly relieved and Steve looks it.

Bucky almost can’t admit it, but he finally chokes out, “I never thought you’d say that.”

And, sure, Bucky’s heard Steve say “I love you” to him too many times to count, but it was never like this. Bucky’s not even sure how to react now that he knows what he feels isn’t one-sided.

Steve smiles at him, though. “Do you want me to say it again?”

“Yeah,” Bucky tells him, just because he can.

“I love you,” he says, taking a few steps closer to him. “I’m in love with you.” Steve wraps his arms around Bucky and whispers it again into his neck and then peppers his skin with light kisses, trailing up to his jawline and then his lips, where Bucky is smiling unabashed.

“Thanks,” Bucky mumbles, nearly out of breath and feeling like he’s in a dream.

Steve kisses him then, a hand wrapped around the back of his neck, thumb softly stroking back and forth. This kiss feels just as electrifying as the one outside of the Met, but there isn’t a tinge of sadness at the thought that Steve was just jerking him around for his amusement.

He knows now. He can practically still hear Steve’s voice telling him that he loves Bucky.

And, god, Bucky loves him too.

***

They end up being late to game night.

It’s not until they get to Tony’s apartment, Steve knocking on the door tentatively, that Bucky realizes that Steve’s shirt isn’t even properly buttoned. Not to mention, his hair is still a bit rucked up in the back and Bucky’s pretty certain he looks just as debauched.

“Let me fix it,” Bucky tells him, already leaning over to undo the last the few buttons.

It’s then that Bruce opens the door with a plastic cup in his hand, the smile on his face dropping a little when he sees Bucky undoing Steve’s shirt. “You did mean to knock, right?” Bruce asks.

“He didn’t button his shirt right,” Bucky says just as Steve goes, “Of course!”

They both look to each other and laugh. Bucky finishes fixing it and they walk in, ignoring Bruce’s confused face. Everyone is sprawled on the floor with Risk in the center, tiny plastic soldiers covering the board.

“You’re late and we started without you,” Tony informs them, looking smug about it. “So, you two are sharing. And you’re not doing so hot, either.”

Bucky squints down to realize that there is a pile of untouched yellow game pieces in a pile. He huffs. “Okay, you’ve all been cheating.”

“We’ll still beat them,” Steve says, looking in Tony’s direction.

“First,” Bucky says. “Alcohol?”

Tony seems unimpressed. “Cups in the kitchen.”

They head to the kitchen and Bucky pulls out two cups and starts to mix drinks for them. Steve watches him carefully and then asks, “So, do you want to be my boyfriend?”

Bucky stills, looking up to Steve. He’s not joking, either, and is instead looking at him with a nervous expression. “Only if you want to be mine,” Bucky then tells him, smirking at him as he turns to face him.

“It’s settled,” Steve says. “We’re boyfriends.”

They smile widely at each other for what feels like the millionth time today, and then Bucky crumples into giggles, covering his face with his hands. “This is horrible,” he says.

Steve seems alarmed. “What?”

“We’re going to have to tell Tony he was right.”

Steve seems just as horrified about this. “We could lie about it for a while,” Steve offers even if Bucky knows he isn’t serious.

“But that would mean I can’t do this,” Bucky says, walking closer so he can kiss Steve. Now that he knows he can, Bucky wants to kiss him all the time.

It’s cut short, though, when someone squeaks from the doorway. Bucky pulls away, a little shocked, but finds Natasha in the doorway, eyes wide but with a bright smile on her face. “I was going to ask what was taking so long,” she says. “But I guess I know now.”

“We were not in here making out,” Bucky objects, folding his arms over his chest for emphasis.

“Hey, make out all you want, I don’t care. I’m just happy you two finally figured it out. Was getting a little tired of waiting.”

Steve’s face is red, and Bucky feels a little offended, but he rolls his eyes at her and finishes mixing their drinks, returning to the living room to keep everyone from cheating. Before Bucky can even sit down, Natasha looks to Tony and asks, “Hey, isn’t tonight the last night of Buck and Steve’s marriage?”

“Looks like you owe us fifty dollars,” Bucky says, trying not to smile.

Tony gives him an insulted look. “Are you kidding me?” he asks. “You come to my apartment with sex hair and expect me to believe you two haven’t already gotten hitched.”

Bucky’s mouth actually drops open, hands unconsciously touching his hair. “I don’t have _sex hair_.” He looks over to Steve for confirmation but he just shrugs and gives him this “what can I say” kind of look.

“So, where is your honeymoon, huh?” Tony nonchalantly asks as he repositions game pieces on the board. “Paris? Jamaica? Romania?”

“Maybe Italy,” Steve chimes in.

When Bucky looks over to him, Steve smiles and grabs his hand, their fingers entwining. “You wish,” Bucky teases.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Life of the Party](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9265703) by [Thedouph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thedouph/pseuds/Thedouph), [Winter_Stan_107 (Thedouph)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thedouph/pseuds/Winter_Stan_107)




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